Wolves, Warriors and Hawke
by NevaRyadL
Summary: Hawke finds a strange book on his doorstep. Investigating it further causes him to be pulled from Kirkwall into strange land called Skyrim. After finding out that his freedom lies in the frozen land of the Nords, will he choose to go back to all he knows, or abandon it all?
1. Book of Madness

Because why the hell not?

Anyway, this includes my dark and depressing male mage Hawke and my beloved bastard Gunnar.

I really thought that the differences between the two worlds was interesting, and wondered how they would interact with one another. Sorry for the shitty beginning, I'll make up for it later.

* * *

"So, you found this book on your doorstep?" Aveline asked skeptically, watching the pale mage flick through the thick, ancient tome.

"Yes" Hawke said simply.

"And now you're reading it to, what? Try to make sense out of it?" Aveline sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"...Aveline. Why do you not trust me?" Hawke suddenly said, turning to glare at the guard captain "You are almost as bad as Meredith in thinking that mages, the moment they are unwatched, will try and burn down the city in a wave of blood magic"

"I didn't"

"Then why all the fuss over a book? I can not even read it, much less figure out its contents, yet you will not stop hounding me over it" Hawke said, hurt "Would you rather I read books about how much of a terrible creature I am for not being able to control that I was born with magic? Or how I should be a good little mage and hand myself over to the Circle?"

"I didn't mean that, Hawke" Aveline quickly said "I just mean…. you attract bad news and trouble. Knowing your luck, it could level the city with a single word"

Hawke just sighed, shutting the strange tome, before taking it with him as he walked up the stairs out of the barracks. He had just wanted to show Aveline the book and get away from home with his blasted brother there. He had not come to get scolded and berated like a child, and quickly frankly, he was getting rather sick and tired of all the bullshit that he was getting as a mage.

Hawke heard Aveline call after him, but he ignored her and simply kept walking. A few nobles and guards muttered greetings as he passed. He ignored them. The word Champion seemed like a hollow and bitter word on their tongues. What use was a Champion that everyone really hated?

No matter where Hawke went, the fact that he was a mage seemed to be the first thought on everyone's mind. The second seemed to be that whatever warrior or any other person besides Merrill and Anders was with him, that they were his his babysitter. A leash to hold him back should he foolishly think that he was a free man for a second. Like he would turn to blood magic the moment he was cornered.

He was growing more and more agitated under the continuous strain of being branded, abused and badmouthed for an accident of birth. He heard far too main whispers about how many people were just waiting for the idle whims of Meredith to vanish, of how many people were just waiting for him to end up in the Circle like his sister, how many people thought he deserved Tranquility for being an known apostate for so long. He almost felt Anders' rage over the whole mage and Templar business, he almost wanted to throw his whole being into Anders' cause. He knew it was foolish, he knew that more then one person would hate him for it, but he was getting sick and tired for being downcasted for something he had no control over.

Angrily huffing, Hawke made his way back to his estate. Once there he bustled upstairs to his room and locked the door, ignoring Bohdan's worried calling. Once there he picked up his book again, opening it to the first page.

The illustration of a large black dragon greeted him. The writing across the top eluded him. Hawke knew a great many languages, and could at least read fragments in a few. But this language… was entirely new to him. All these rough symbols, almost like the letters that he knew but not quite. He ran his fingers across them, wishing he could read them. He flipped through a few pages, past intricate and heavily detailed pictures of strangely armored warriors with helmets and beards and bulging muscles. Of pictures of mages in strange robes performing stranger spells without staves, summoning creatures without using blood magic. Of pictures of rogues with strange armor, wielding daggers and bows, stalking victims in low crouches. He found pictures of… strange races, to say the least. Large, muscular men and women with tusk like teeth and strong brows. Elves of all different sizes and features, ranging from short to tall, with large to small ears, elf warriors, rogues and mages. Giant cat like men, so many different fur patterns and different shapes and species. Humans with all sorts of features and sizes, and powers. He saw pictures of vast landscapes of trees, rivers, mountains, simple towns. Of wildlife he had never seen, of strange plants. Of foreign landscapes of volcanic ash, strange plants and strange native creatures.

And… a picture that rung with Hawke more than anything in the strangely wonderful. A picture of a mage and a warrior walking side by side in a small village, smiling and talking. No one was glaring at the mage, no one was glaring at the warrior for walking with the mage. For a moment, Hawke imagined that the world was a place where mages were accepted, even only minutely more than those in Thedas. Sighing, Hawke stopped himself there. He could not lose himself to idle fantasies. Fantasies were for those that whole cities did not depend on. And despite the city hating him for even being born, it depended on him to not tear itself apart. But… Hawke could not help but wish that he was there.

* * *

Hawke was still pouring over the book when Fenris showed up, likely from drinking and cards with Varric at the Hanged Man. He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt calloused fingertips brush against his shoulders.

"Reading are you?" His wolf asked, looking over his shoulder at the book on his desk.

"Yes, a book that someone placed on my doorstep this morning. It is… interesting, even if I am having a hard time deciphering what it says" Hawke said, rubbing his eyes. He did not know how much time had passed, other then the window in his room was dark and the fireplace low "I think… I think I have started understanding a bit of it. I am not sure, the language is baffling and awe inspiriting at the same time"

"Hmm… looks dangerous"

"It is not. It is a book of fables" Hawke said, a hard edge to his voice "Stories of dragons, warriors, mages, thieves in a province called 'Skyrim' I do believe. I… cannot make out some of the words, they are strange to say the least. But it is an interesting tale none the less"

The mage felt a pair of lips on his temple.

"Well, your stories can wait. If you have not noticed, it is well beyond the time for my mage to get his rest" Fenris murmured against the skin.

His wolf encouraged him up, away from the book and towards the bed. He looked back at his book, just wanting to try and read those strange stories, look at those strange pictures. He wanted to be lost in that strange world. Fenris peeled away his house robes, and then encouraged him to lay down, peeling away some of his own armor, before crawling in besides him. He felt the wolf's arms around him, and he was pulled closer until he felt the warm, branded skin against his face. He wanted to read his book, but knew that Fenris had grown accustomed to pressing together for the nights. As much as he wanted to have his book, he could not hurt his wolf.

* * *

The next day he was still pouring over the book, dressed to go out adventuring but refusing to break apart from his precious story book.

The letters were not becoming easier to try and decipher. Many of what the book said still eluded him. The meaning behind the pictures seemed further and further away, and the more the meaning eluded him, the more frustrated he got with it. The more he looked at the pictures, the more he wished to be in the strange land. The more he looked the more his freedom depraved mind sought refuge in the strange land, in the happy picture where a mage was able to walk freely, with a friend not a leash holder. The more he looked at the pictures of all the strange races, the more and more he longed to be away from the terrible City of Chains.

To throw it all away…

He could throw away all but Fenris. He loved his wolf, he really did. Even if the bitter remarks that his wolf threw at him burned a little, he knew that his wolf loved him deeply. The way he moved around him, the way he glared at glaring Templars, the way Fenris scared off his brother to give themselves some privacy. He knew that, even if it was a little hard to see sometimes, that Fenris loved him. But the love of his wolf did little to keep him from outright fleeing the city of chains, so he allowed himself this idle fancy.

His only breakthrough was deciphering a word 'Sheogorath'. He recited the word over and over and over again. Perhaps it would help…

And then his brother came home, of course storming into his room.

"Hawke, where are you?" He looked up from his book, hand hovering over the picture of the black dragon.

"What is tha-"

"Touch it and die" Hawke growled out, summoning fire into his free hand.

There was a moment of silence, Carver opened his mouth again only for the fireball to grow larger. He paused, open his mouth again to the same result, and then decided to leave. He would likely report his threat to the Templars. And he just wanted to escape it all. "Sheogorath… whether it is an idea, or a person… please… help" He sighed. Suddenly his world dissolved and he found himself falling into icy cold water.


	2. Land of the Nords

The initial shock of falling stunned him, feeling icy air whip around him as he plummeted. The air, which was so much fresher and crisper than anything he had ever breathed in, seemed intent on whipping and tossing him which way and that, tossing him like a leaf on air. And the moment he got a chance to take a breath in, he screamed.

He tried to right himself, only managed to see the white of a foggy sky and the deep blue of the water of the earth below him between the tossing and flailing. Hawke saw the smudges of dark green, browns, the stony greys and whites of snowy capped mountains. But he was seeing the deep blues in more frequency, which was frightening indeed. But fear would only kill him, so pushing his heart in his throat down into his chest, he started to try and think about something that could save him.

He tried to think of the force magic he knew, but the only spells he could think of were the only that forced things down. Any faster and he would only end up even more dead, and that was not the goal at the moment. He tried to think of the spell that caused slowness of movement, but that required a solid surface to cast the spell on. He recalled the rock armor spell, it would save him some of the damage, but also probably cause more with the added weight.

He thought that if he casted-

He was flung around again and saw only blue. He was hurtling to the ground with perhaps less than several seconds left before he impacted the surface of the water at a dangerous velocity. He wished vaguely that he could have said goodbye to Fenris before he died, but that was a fantasy in this nightmare-

A might echo rang out, like the very air was being torn asunder. And then a great booming voice called out

"_Thiid, KLO UL!_"

He felt something impact him, the world slowed to a crawl, and he impacted the water with a soft splash. And while his mind reeled from the suddenly slowness, he started to sink like a rock into the bitterly cold water. The weight of his layered robes was going to kill him, quickly absorbing water and dragging him further and further down as his body struggled to even start comprehending what was going on.

While water rushed into his yielded mouth, he thought that perhaps instantaneously dying from impacting the water's surface was much more appealing than drowning. He came up with a lengthy diatribe for the voice's owner as he sank further and further into the blackest of the water.

Water was in his lungs, chilling every nerve ending in his being. Thankfully his stunned mind allowed little panic to his coming death. Just coldness and the coming blackness as his brain was deprived of air.

His foot hit the ground of the water source and his body slowly followed. The ground was loose and grainy, he could feel it against his knees, chest and face as they eventually hit the bottom of the river. He felt murky mud, gritty stones and bits of sand against his cheeks, felt his hair drifting through the water.

And this was how the great William Hawke was going to die… drowning.

As blackness from the corners of his eyes bled to the front, he lamented all his choices in life. So many mistakes, so many mishaps, so many blunders. And he lamented not saying goodbye to Fenris.

And then strong hands grabbed his arms and pulled upwards, yanking him from the murky riverbed. He had little time to comprehend this though, as the lack of air finally got to him and his vision faded into black.

* * *

[=-

He felt warmth on his mouth, and then he felt warmth rushing down his throat, pushing against the cold slush in his lungs. The warmth left, and then returned, once again pushing against the cold slush. Again, again and again. The warmth slowly but surely warmed the ice water in his lungs, loosening it up, encouraging it to move and flow freely again.

His lungs began to move, clenching to try and force the water out. The warmth rushing in helped, kept the water moving, kept his lungs trying to move. More warmth was pushed in, and his lungs heaved. More and they heaved again, and heaved again. Finally he coughed, the warmth abandoning him as he jerked to the side and began heaving up the water, letting it rush from his insides.

As he forced more and more water out, he found himself slowly becoming aware of the things around him.

Two rough voices, blurry still past all the ringing, talking over him. The water that soaked him to the bone felt especially cold in the brisk, winter air. His hair was sticking to his face, neck and back uncomfortably. He felt mud clinging to his face, hair and robes. His robes felt almost twenty pounds heavier with all the water that they seemed to jealously carry. His skin was cold and itchy.

He plopped back down on his back again, breathing raggedly.

The ringing started to settle down. He could start making out bits and pieces of the two voices, eyes finally blinking out all the dirty ice water that blinded them. With both vision and hearing coming slowly but surely back, he started to make details out of his savior, or saviors.

Blurs of skin tone, pale like he was. Dark hair colors, black for one and the other a dark brown. One was wearing dark brown armor, the other was wearing not so covering armor. He eventually made out the details, a giant sword for one, sword and shield for the other. The darkness of one's face suggested that it was bearded, the other cleanshave or only stubble. The black haired one had a… distortion in his face, a blur of skin tone over where one eyes was supposed to be, the other had lightly colored eyes.

"...sky...don't...but thank the…in time"

He breathed in, breathed out, calmed his racing mind.

The details cleared out, slowly forming two male faces. One was young, though with a beard, you could tell that the man was probably not even in his thirties. His eyes were a brilliant yellow, an unnatural color. He wore an set of well made armor, with a wolf head made at the base of the throat along the collar. He wore a swords and a shield on his back.

The other was older, definitely in the later forties. Short black hair and a light peppering of grey, and dark stubble along his jaw. There was an impressive scar that ran from hairline to jaw line along one side of his face, the scarring healing over an eye. The man carried a rather large greatsword. His armor did not protect his arms, leaving them bare.

"...name, lad?"

"...huh?" He wheezed.

"I said, do you have a name, lad?" The older of the two asked in a strange accent.

"...name… William, William Hawke" He wheezed.

"William, eh? Name's Gunnar, that's Vilkas" The older man, Gunnar, grinned warmly.

"...where?"

"Where are you? Er… where are we sonny? Oh! We're near Windhelm, lad. We saw you falling, hope you didn't mind the Thu'um I threw at you. Saved you from dying from hitting the water though" Gunnar smiled, reaching out to help him sit up.

"...Windhelm… I don't know a city called Windhelm" He wheezed, a heavy hand helpfully thumping his back.

"My word, what spell were you doing that teleported you all the way to Skyrim?" Gunnar chuckled "Because it's a damned good one"

"...Skyrim?" He asked.

The Skyrim… from his book of fables? The land actually… existed? Or perhaps he really did die upon hitting the water and this was all an after death experience… or perhaps he did drown. Or perhaps… not considering all the other bad luck of his life, he really was in the strange land that he yearned to be in. The land that seemed to hold the secrets to being a mage and not living in constant fear of Tranquility, Templars and persecution.

"Yeah… where are you from, lad?" Gunnar asked, looking concerned. He felt the older man's hand on his shoulder, comfortingly so.

"Kirkwall, in the Free Marches" He mumbled.

"...Never heard of it, much be a good long way's off then" Gunnar said, getting to his feet and then offering a hand up.

He took the man's hand in his, callused from sword use, and used it to pull himself up. his knees quaked from both shock and coldness, and his legs collapsed underneath him, sending him to the cold ground again. His teeth chattered loudly.

"Alright, looks like that fall took a lot more out of you then I thought" Gunnar chuckled.

The old warrior grunted, and then jerked up arm and their joined hands upward. Hawke felt himself yanked upwards, fully into the air, and when he could make sense of things again, he was being carried like a damsel in the old warrior's arms.

"Gunnar" The other, Vilkas, grumbled.

"Jealous are we?" Gunnar laughed, already walking.

"No!" Vilkas said firmly.

"You're so cute when you're grumpy and jealous" Gunnar teased.

He looked confused between the older and younger warrior, not sure what was going on or where he was being taken, though the older warrior's body heat was rather pleasant. When the old warrior happened to see the confusion, he only laughed warmly.

"Sonny over there is my husband, believe it or not" Gunnar laughed "I bug him all the time"

Oh… oh… Hawke tried not to seem flustered. After all, he played 'bottom' to an elf, but seeing someone of their proportions, he had thought the warriors testosterone pumping heteros. And he certainly never saw such an age difference between two men before.

"No, let's see… Let's head into Windhelm, if only to help poor William here… then… maybe take him to the mage college or get Bruniik to come over, see if we can find out a way to get him home?" Gunnar mused to himself, still walking.

"Was it a spell that brought you here, William?" Vilkas asked, easily keeping up.

"I'm not sure… I was reading this strange book, and then suddenly I was falling"

"Got to watch out for those magical tomes" Gunnar laughed "I once had one teleport me to the realm of Herma Morta… or whatever that tentacle nightmare's name is"

"The book… had a lot about this land, if I was right" He said "So many strange things that does not exist in Thedas. And it was all written in this strange language, I could only make out a few words of it, one of which was Skyrim. And then… Sheogorath, I think was another"

That gave the old warrior a pause in his stride. The old warrior looked down at him, and quite seriously said.

"That explains everything. Lad, I think you stepped into some dark territory when you stumbled onto that book"

A small ball of angry swelled in his stomach. It seemed harmless, how was he supposed to know that it was a book that would teleport him Maker knew where? He could barely read the damned thing, let alone knew what it contained.

"What's with the sour look?" Gunnar chuckled.

"I didn't know it would do this" He snapped.

"Easy lady, easy, don't be upset. The sneaky bastard liley planted the book to cause a whole ruckus of problems, he's fun like that. Don't go beating yourself up over it, there's almost no use" Gunnar smiled soothingly "Believe it or not, these kinds of things happen quite a bit"

Well that was a relief… sort of. he was half expecting a jab at his…

"You are not going to turn me over to the Templars, are you?" He asked, fully prepared to cast any spell to get free of the old man's arms.

However, the befuddled look that the old warrior gave him made him think twice.

"Templars? What are those?"

"...The Chantry's means of keeping the mages leashed, collared and in control?"

"...Why would we ever do that to the mages? I realize that some of the older, set in their way Nords are uncomfortable with magic users, but why would you try to control them all?" Gunnar asked, genuinely confused "I mean… everyone's capable of magic in some form or another, wither or not they use is another matter, but… that's dumb lad, I hope you know it"

The feel of the look on his face almost made him want to laugh.

Everyone. EVERYONE. Everyone was capable of magic, and it was not just a terrible, terrible curse inflicted onto the rare individual. That was… almost a concept out of a Circle Mage's dream. Everyone, everyone capable of magic. That would mean… there would be no need for a Chantry, nor Templars, nor need for discrimination against mages because it would be so assbackwards that even the most bigoeted Templar bastard could see that trying to cage everyone would be pointless.

He almost wanted to cry, and laugh, and run and jump. He did not need to run and hide from Templars, or hide behind a noble status. He did not need be terrified that someone would turn him in just to get ahead in life. He was… he was completely free without having to go out into some deserted place to live. He was free.

"Um, lad, are you alright?" Gunnar asked "Your… your crying"

He felt the hot tears running down his face and could not suppress a hiccup as he tried to scrub the tears from his cold face with the cold, wet sleeve of his robes.

"I-I am fine" He sobbed.

* * *

Fenris arrived to the hawke estate in quite the clamor.

When he opened the doors he found Anders and Merrill pouring over a book while Isabela and Varric seemed to be mulling something over.

"Why are all you here?" He asked.

"Sunshine, we've got bad news" Varric said, "Hawke's missing and the only clue we've got is Junior saying that he left Hawke alone with that damned book for a moment and came back to find Hawke missing, but the damned book still there"

His mage was what?!

"No open windows, nothing missing from his room, no packed bags, no notes, no nothing" Isabela said "So, he didn't run away again, did he?"

"No, if he had, he would have found me" Fenris said, a hard edge of anger to his voice. The wolf was almost sure that Carver was behind Hawke's disappearance, or weird magic associated with that damned book Hawke had been obsessing over.

The thought that magic had stolen Hawke away from him…

"What have you found?" He demanded from the Abomination and the witch.

"We can't bloody read it, it's not in a language I know" Anders muttered, not looking up.

"I don't recognize any of it either… I suppose I could use blood magic, summon a spirit that could read it for us… b-but I figured I would let Anders try first" Merrill said.

So, it was up to the Abomination and the witch to save his mage… terrific.


	3. A Long Way Home

Shivering violently, he sat in front of the fire in the ratty old tavern that reminded him of the Hanged Man. Except that the Hanged Man never had a dark grey skinned elf with bright red eyes singing in a gentle voice about a man named Ulfric. And the Hanged Man never had all the pale skinned, muscular brutes that sat around either. Or the lingering smell of honey and mead rather than cheap whiskey, piss and vomit.

He sat shivering in a chair in front of the fire, thankfully for some warmth. He wondered how in the world Vilkas could just sit there in full armor, seemingly content with the world. Then again, he was sure that it was never this cold in Kirkwall, and the strange warrior probably grew up in this cold.

"Alright lad, I know man, er, elf, named Bruniik-Kah" Gunnar said, reappearing with a fur pelt and wrapping it around his shivering shoulders "He knows a great deal about these things. If anyone knows how to get you home, it'll be him"

He nodded, fear of biting his tongue off with chattering teeth, before trying to disappear into the pelt. He had already stripped out of the first two layers of his robes, and was currently shivering in an undershirt and a pair of pants while a sloppy mess of his robes and boots sat by the fire. While Gunnar had poked and laughed at how useless they were in Skyrim weather, he promised they would stay as long as it took for them to dry, or help him buy new ones.

"Now… let's see. Sonny, what are the chances are that Brun is drunk back at Jorrvaskr?" Gunnar laughed, taking a seat next to Vilkas.

"Well, there's a good chance that he's at least drunk" Vilkas said, drinking from a mug that smelled heavily of honey and mint "Other than that, I'm not sure where that blasted idiot wanders off too"

Gunnar laughed at that, taking a seat next to the knight and slinging an arm around his shoulder before turning his head towards William.

"So, William, anyone we should keep an eye out for if they come looking for you? A good looking lad like yourself has got to have an army of grief stricken admirers somewhere"

He let out a short, gruff laugh. An army of admirers? More like an army of people that hated and ridiculed him, but also demanded his help. An army of people that kept demanding more and more and more out of him.

"My friends, if they find out what happened. There's Isabela, a lovely young woman, dressed up like a pirate though. She is…" He contemplated telling them that she was from Rivain, but then realized with how they did not even know what Kirkwall was, decided to use simpler explanations "She is tanned, long dark brown hair, a lot of gold jewelry, orangish eyes"

"Sounds like an Redguard" Vilkas noted "Or an Imperial"

"Imperial?" He asked "S-She is not from the Tevinter Imperium!"

"No, no, no lad" Gunnar said "Imperials are from Cyrodiil… what's the Tevinter Imperium?"

Blinking, Hawke was beginning to think that he was further and further from home. If even these two had never even heard of the Tevinter Imperium.

"A place… where mages are dominant, that is all" He muttered "There is also, Anders. A mage like me, he has blond-ish hair, dark stubble, he has feathers on his robes. He is a bit on the pale side, and would be probably pick a fight with anyone that did not agree that mages should live as free men and women"

Gunnar nodded once, snatching the mug that Vilkas was using to steal a drink before handing it back with a cheeky smile.

"There is Merrill, another mage. She's a Dalish Elf-"

"What's a Dalish Elf?" Gunnar asked.

"They are… the faction of elves that choose not to live anywhere near their former human oppressors. They live in the forests as nomadic hunters"

"Huh… sounds a lot like Bosmer" Gunnar mused "The ones that live in the roaming tree cities anyway"

"What is a Bosmer?" He asked.

"Wood elves lad, they generally live in nature. I think a few are also strict carnivores" Gunnar said "I can't really tell you more, though if you want I can point you towards a Bosmer I know. He's not exactly… chatty, though"

That caused Vilkas to almost choke on mead as he tried to not laugh. He covered it well with a cough though. He sipped from his mug while he recovered, avoiding eye contact to stop himself from chuckling again.

"Well… then there is Varric, he is a dwarf" He said next.

That caused Vilkas to spit out his drink.

"A dwarf? Are you sure about that lad? They should all be dead and gone" Gunnar sputtered, thumping on Vilkas' back.

"...Yes, he is from Orzammar. And as far as I know, the dwarves are always pressed by Darkspawn, but I am sure that they are not extinct" He said, mildly concerned.

"What's a Darkspawn?" Gunnar asked "And how in the name of the Nine are dwarves alive where you are from?"

This was going to be a very long discussion…

* * *

He glowered darkly at the sky.

His mage, gone. Not only gone, but either kidnapped or run away. Kidnapped would mean that someone was trying to get ahead in life by threatening the Champion of Kirkwall, or wanted to abuse him for being such, or for being an apostate. And run away would mean that Hawke would abandon it all to get away from the abuse.

Either way, he was not happy about his lover's disappearance.

"Fenris?"

He turned his murderous gaze on the guard captain.

"We are going to let Merrill try blood magic. Anders and Merrill have been pouring over that book for hours and simply have not been able to read anything. And Merrill is sure that a spirit of the Fade will know"

He turned back to glare at the sky.

Of course. How much pressure Hawke was to never fall prey to blood magic, to use blood magic to save him. He did not appreciate the irony. He did not appreciate his mage running off and the only clue far out of their reach.

"Come on, Merrill says we need to go to Sundermount" Aveline said "We'll yell at her later"

* * *

The sun had long set, and they were still talking.

Hawke had finally gotten the point across that dwarves were still alive where he was from, that they lived in a series of underground tunnels and caves known as Orzammar. He to get it across that there were only two kinds of elves, City and Dalish. He had to get across that there was a race known as the Qunari, and they were not just large grey skinned Orcs. That yes, mages were treated terribly and where either chained up in a place called the Circle or running from their lives labeled as Apostates.

He could tell that some of what he said made Gunnar anger. When he told them about the history of the elves, and how they became the Dalish and City elves, he saw the veins in the scar along his face bulge. When he told them about the Qunari, and how they treated their mages, the line of his mouth grew tight and angry. And when he told the old warrior about how the mages were treated, Gunnar's brow dipped into a dangerous glare.

He was thankful when Vilkas mentioned that they needed to get back.

"Right, right, right" Gunnar said, rubbing his eyes "But what are we going to do about you, lad?"

"I am not sure… I am beginning to think that I am further and further away from home" Hawke said, curling up in his pelt "And… this land is so strange"

"Come with us!" Gunnar grinned.

"W-with you?" He asked.

"Yeah! You can come with us to Jorrvaskr. It's a pretty well known place, we've got beds and food, and there's a good chance that that drunken lout Brun is there" Gunnar grinned, acting no where near his age with his eagerness "What do you say, William?"

Go to a place where, even surrounded by warriors, he would be bettered treated than in his own home at Kirkwall? Go to a place where they would help him, not want to abuse him? Go to a place with no Templars, no Circle, no Chantry? Go to the place where a master mage would help him get back home?

"Alright then… but one thing though"

"Yes, lad?"

"Most everyone calls me Hawke, not William"

"Alright then, Hawke"

* * *

"_...it is a book, to be sure_" The demon said, holding the book into two clawed hands.

"Y-yes, I know this. What does the book say?" Merrill asked, sitting perfectly still on a rock.

The two were on Sundermount, a place where the Veil was thin. It allowed Merrill to find a demon rather easily. And in such an open area, would allow a good fight.

"_Hmm… it is a strange language. But, me thinks I do have a clue, as to what is it" _The demon said "_There are many realms beyond just the living and the Fade, child. However, us demons are not always powerful enough to reach out towards these realms. There are, other beings that are powerful enough to reach out not only towards the Fade and then the realm of the living. I believe the most, infamous one, is Sheogorath"_

"Sheogorath?" Merrill asked.

"_Yes. He is a being of madness, that much I know. He has a fondness of causing mischief and chaos wherever he goes. It is possible that by taking this mage out of your realm, he meant to cause such"_

"Well then… so we need to attract the attention of this, Sheogorath then? Ask him to bring Hawke back?" Merrill asked "Or perhaps find a way to use the same portal that he did?"

"_Hmm… it seems that the book is key. It is an portal in of itself. It requires the use of magic, desire and willingness to go, and to attract the attention of this being of madness"_ The demon said "_The portal should open then_"

"Alright then, thank you so much" Merrill chimed.

The demon nodded, handing over the book, and then vanishing into a fine green mist, returning to the fade where it once came. And with the demon gone, the others, who had been hiding behind rocks, came out. They looked less than pleased with the blood magic Merrill had to use. But now they knew what Hawke had done, and how to get to him.

"Alright, so Hawke used the book to vanish" Aveline said.

"But did you hear what else was required? A desire and willingness to leave, he wanted to leave Kirkwall behind. Can't say that I blame him, being a mage anywhere is a sure way to be treated like rubbish" Anders said.

"But then why go to this place? What's so special about it?" Isabela said, plucking the book from Merrill "The only thing I can think of is all these well built men"

Merrill reached over and flipped it to a page with a mage and a warrior walking side by side. There was no ire in the eyes of the onlookers or the warrior. It was just two humans enjoying the company of others.

"It looks like mages have a few more freedoms there. Not to mention, when I flipped through it, I didn't see any Templars, any signs of the Chantry or anything like that" Merrill pointed out.

"How can that be?" Aveline said, looking over Isabela's shoulder "Then who is to stop the rise of another Imperium?"

"Well, it would help if we could read it" Isabela chuckled.

"We know what we need to get Hawke back at least. Someone with magical talent, a desire and willingness to go, and someone that can attract the attention of this Sheogorath figure" Anders listed off "So that would mean… either me or Merrill"

"Hold on, I want to go" Fenris said.

"Well, do you have magical talent?" Anders snapped.

"No, but I will be damned before I let you two go after Hawke"

"Please you two!" Aveline said.

"Why not both?" Merrill suggested "Anders the talent, Fenris the desire. And I'm sure that between the two of you, one will get the attention of Sheogorath"

The two glared daggers at one another.


	4. Snow and Drunk Friends

"So, you're a mage, Hawke?" Gunnar asked.

Startled out of his thoughts, he looked to the old warrior through the folds of the thick cloak and pelts wrapped around his shoulders. They were walking together down a snow hidden road, Gunnar insisting that he knew where they were going at all times. Gunnar was to his left, while the still grouchy knight was to his right.

"Yes?" He answered, voice muffled.

"What kind of school do you specialize in?" Gunnar asked "Restoration? Destruction? Alteration? Maybe Conjuration"

"Umm… we do not have that we I come from" He said "We have different Specializations, instead"

"Well? Go on, don't keep me in suspense" Gunnar grinned.

"You are… interested?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm a curious man. Is that bad?"

"No… it is just… it is just that… as I told you where I am from, not many care for mages. We are viewed as monsters, or at worst, wild and dangerous. Not many are… genuinely interested as you have proven yourself"

"Yeah, well, I'm not as much of a raging bastard as I come off, I swear" Gunnar laughed "Right, sonny?"

"Right" Vilkas drawled sarcastically.

"So, what are the specializations where you are from?"

"Well… I know of quite a few, however I have yet had the pleasure of learning them because I lack a teacher. The ones that are out of my reach are...Arcane Warrior, a class that is the hybrid between a Warrior and a mage, specializing in magic that augments physical might and offensive magics"

"Like the Spell Swords we have here" Gunnar said "I know one too, I should introduce you two!"

"Then there are...Shapeshifters. They are a class that focus on adapting the shape of animals, and while it seems like a useful talent, most who practice this Specialization are often the Apostates that live in the Wilds. There are also Spirit Healers, and as their name sounds, they focus on healing and casting spells with benefiting buffs"

"So… Spirit Healers are like out Restoration Mages. Alright, anymore?"

"There are also Battlemages, which are battle driven mages that thrive in the thick and heat of battle. Many of their spells consist of powerful area spells, or physical buffs to deal with pain. And then there are Keepers, a Specialization best known among the Dalish Elves. It is a class that specializes in nature based spells, including personal buffs"

"Interesting, you're going to have to tell this all to Brun when you meet him. Poor man's going to have a field day. Anymore?"

"Yes, the three that are known to me. There are Force Mages, their spells specialize in telekinetic and gravity based spells. They are exceptionally useful when dealing with large groups of enemies" He explained "And then there are Maleficarum-"

He stopped himself short. Would Gunnar's good nature extend to the ever hated, ever in the wrong, blood mages? It was a deeply forbidden art, and even the most understanding frowned upon the art that lay in all mages' blood. It was a vile and dirty magic to begin with, and even he did not endorse such a malicious form of magic.

"Maleficarum? What are those, Hawke?"

"...I am not sure I can tell you" He muttered.

"You can tell me lad, I ain't those bastard Templars or Circle whatever" Gunnar said, laying a warm hand on his shoulder "I am not going to hurt you"

"I am not so sure of that. Maleficarum are dark and dangerous beings, mages that use the magic in their blood to draw power from the Fade to summon demons and the blackest magic. Their power corrupts their minds, eventually turning them into tyrants or demons, though the differences are minute"

"Sounds dangerous, but I really don't see too much of a problem. Magic of any kind can do that to a man, just like strength, stealthy or any form of power can do that to the strongest of us. Just because a mage can do that, sounds a bit like everyone from where you're from is just piss scared and jealous of the power of mages" Gunnar said.

"I may not be… that comfortable with mages, but I have to agree with Gunnar. It sounds like the mages where you're from are much stronger than the ones here, but just because someone is strong, you shouldn't beat them down. It would be smarter to get on the mages' good sides, wouldn't it? Having someone that strong would not only smarter in common sense, but also smarter tactical wise. Mages are always an asset on the battlefield, especially if they are strong" Vilkas said.

"You would think… but Maleficarum are often killed as soon as they are discovered. The risk of demonic taint is too high, and demons cannot be bargained with" He said "So the mages are pressed to never resort to that power"

"Well… it just sounds like something you shouldn't use unless you're backed into a corner. Other than that… sorry lad, I just don't see a problem with it" Gunnar grinned lopsidedly, "I can't even think that Brun would be bothered by it"

"...You said that this Bruniik was the… 'Archmage of the College', what does that mean?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Basically, Brun is in charge of the place where students go to learn the schools of magic. He keeps everyone in line, makes sure that no one starts practising Necromancy and other harmful magic. He's actually the best man for the job, especially if he ain't rip roaring drunk, and even if he is he's still the best man for the job" Gunnar chucked "He would delighted to talk magic stuff with you lad, if you feel like sticking around for a little while"

"Perhaps a bit more then that" He muttered.

He did not want to admit it… but the more he heard about this strange land, the more he wanted to stay. There was no running from the Templars, no running from the Circle, no threat of being turned Tranquil, hell, there was even a place for one to sharpen their magical skills. The Circle was more a holding cell, rather than a place for mages to learn. Not only that, but it sounded like that the prejudice against mages was not as harsh as it was in Kirkwall. Quite honestly, the only thing that the strange land lacked was his friends, sister and-

"I completely forgot" He said "There is one more person that will definitely come looking for me. He is a City Elf, though based on what you have told me of your land's elves, he would closely resemble a Bosmer. He has tanned skin, with strange marks across his skin in a very… artistic manner. He has… bright green eyes like summer grass, but hair as white as fresh snow. He wears spiked gauntlets, and very visually deterring armor, because he does not want anyone getting too close. And-"

"So, your lover boy, eh?" Gunnar grinned lecherously.

Blushing slightly, he held his mouth in a tight line.

"Yes"

"No problem. Actually, if this man truly loves you, we should see him first, right?"

"I do not know about true love" He said before his could stop himself.

"Eh?"

"...Fenris hates magic, mages and anyone who defends them. As you can imagine… I have a hard time making myself believe that he would put that all aside for me. I know he says otherwise… but sometimes I think he's just there for the sex" He admitted, finding it a little too easy to confess to the older warrior.

"Well, we'll know as soon as he shows up, won't we?" Gunnar grinned "So don't worry that pretty little head of yours, lad"

"Right"

* * *

Working through the snow was hard on his body. Kirkwall was never as cold as it was in Skyrim, and he was not dressed for cold weather. Several times Gunnar stopped them so he could check for Frost Bite, making sure that he was not in danger of losing fingers and toes. And several times he started small fires to warm him up.

"Damn lad, what are your boots made for? Looking pretty on a shelf?" Gunnar had said at one point.

And at one point, he had to agree. The garbs, gloves and boots in Kirkwall for magic users, wherever he could get his hands on without someone screaming 'mage', were only really designed to carry enchants to bolster magical abilities. They were meant to be airy, light and malleable, so that the mages could move about to keep distances from enemies. They were not meant to be long lasting, they were meant to have short lives and look pretty. Perhaps if he got around to it, he would find some appropriate robes meant for Skyrim's weather. Even if their length of use was short lived, he needed something that would not cause him to freeze to death.

After a few more miles, Gunnar did not think that his boots would stand much more use. The stitchings were coming loose, as well as the glues, which meant that the only thing standing between him and frostbite was soon going to bust open. So he ended up getting to jump onto Gunnar's back for the rest of the trip, Gunnar merrily singing in his thick accent about someone named Ragnar the Red and Vilkas grumpily storming along side the old warrior's long strides. At least with Gunnar's jolly voice singing, and perhaps the news that he already had a lover, Vilkas seemed minutely less grumpy than usual.

At least without all the stops, the two warriors managed to plow through quite a few miles. They hardly seemed bothered by either, not only that, they hardly seemed bothered by the distance. Their stamina was… almost not human. Even his walks from Kirkwall to Sundermount bothered even Fenris and Aveline, and Fenris was used to moving for days with little stop, Aveline used to walking around in heavy armor.

However, as the sun was rising in the sky again, Gunnar pointed out the city that they were approaching. It was only a bit larger than Lothering, and with a lot less dirt and dogs. And as Gunnar and Vilkas walked through the gates, he saw that there was a lot more rough stonework then in Lothering or Kirkwall.

Gunnar merrily walked past a few shops, and then through a small shopping center. He walked up to a large, beautiful tree and then up the steps to a building that looked like it had been made from a boat at one point. Though that detail was soon second to the sheer volume of noise that was coming out of upturned boat. It sounded like a few dozen were inside simply drunkenly shouting, calling out names and throwing insults left and right.

Kicking open one of the doors, he peeked over one of the old warrior's shoulder to see a good sized group of people, gathered around a table and drinking heavily. Many of them were the oversized, pale skinned humans like Vilkas and Gunnar.

And then he saw a darkly tanned elf that looked like Fenris, except with glowing red eyes and a red mohawk. There was a large, green skinned man with large tusk like teeth. There was a younger girl with dark hair, perched on the shoulders of a large blond haired man. There was a tall, golden skinned elf like creature with long blonde hair that was perhaps drinking the most. And there was even… a large… cat like creature?

"HEY!" Gunnar roared over the noise "SHUT YOUR YAPS!"

The mighty boom of Gunnar's voice managed to silence the drunken lot. They starred bleary eyed at the two warriors.

"What in the name of Oblivion you lot? I thought I told you no drinking after midnight! IT'S MORNING YOU DRUNK FUCKERS"

The sheer disappointment that rolled off the old warrior seemed to have a heavy impact with the drunken lot, as they quickly started corking drinks and quickly ushering each other to put all the bottles of what had to be mead away.

"It's like I'm dealing with children" Gunnar said, letting him get down off his back "Come with me Hawke, I'll introduce you to Brun"

Walking over to the golden skinned elf, Gunnar bodily lifted the elf off the table and carried him over to a chair in the corner of the room, dropping him without ceremony. The elf giggled drunkenly as he shoved long blonde hairs out of his face.

"Bruniik-Kah, you drunken asshat" Gunnar sighed "You know I'm trying to get them to stop being drunk all the fucking time"

"Ssaaaw…. seeeerrrr...sorrrrrry Gunnie, I was joust… I wazz just…" The elf slurred.

Gunnar brought his hand back, and then snapped it forward. His large hand connected with the elf's thin and high cheekbone with a sharp crack. However, instead of being indignant or angry, the elf just stared wide eyed at the old warrior, blurry eyes focusing. It seemed that a good dose of pain was helping the drunk elf's mind focus.

"Better?" He asked.

"Nnnnot quite… better doo eeet again!"

CRACK

"Thatshush a bit betters" Bruniik said "Stillz…. steel reel drunekn"

Sighing heavily, Gunnar turned to him.

"Looks like he's too far gone. He's going to need to sleep some of it off lad, and you're probably tired as well. While I get these drunken idiots up and about, how about you two go down to the Whelp Quarters and catch some sleep? When Brun is sober enough to talk fluently, we'll get you two talking, see if he can get you back home" Gunnar said.

"As I appear to have little choice, I thank you for putting up with me for so long" He said gratefully.

"No problem, and if it's going to take a long time getting you home, Brun can help you getting some decent robes lad, because honestly? Those ones that you are wearing are useless" Gunnar chuckled.

The old warrior turned and gave the elf a good shaking.

"Hey! Head to bed!"

Nodding, the drunken elf got to his feet and started wobbling to a set of stairs.

"Just follow him, find a bed, and take a good long nap. I'll get you once Brun wakes up" Gunnar said before turning to the still meandering warriors and such.

"ALRIGHT! Since you drunken lot decided that you wanted to drink til morning, you get to skip sleeping. Get washed up, get food in your stomachs and get ready for work!" Gunnar called as he followed the drunk elf "And don't start whining! A bunch of grown ass adults and I have to babysit you lot. Grown up and you'll stop getting treated like kids"

Down a set of stairs, the drunk elf stumbled into a room with a lot of simple beds with furs on them. Kicking out of his shoes and then pulling at his robes got him down to a pair of simple trousers and collapsed on a bed. He was snoring within seconds.

Choosing one in the corner, he kicked out of his boots but kept his robes on. Even if he was inside, he was still bitterly cold. Pulling up all the furs, he slipped underneath the comforting weight and curled up into a tight ball. When he could finally feel the heat that he body was trying to put off, he finally found some peace of mind to sleep.


	5. You're in Deep, Hawke

Surrounded in complete and utter warmth, Hawke's sleeping mind thought that he was back home. He wondered vaguely when someone would wake him up, either to make sure that he fed himself, or that he got up to perform all the errands and quests that the city required of him. Or he would feel Fenris move in the bed, the pretty elf getting up to get ready for the day.

And then his groggy mind started registering small details. The lingering smell of sweat, leather and something masculine. The smells of mead and honey. The smell of warm furs and the lingering smells of salt and sweat coming from himself. He heard faint voices, like someone was purposefully trying to be quiet in a room upstairs.

And then his memories started rushing back. The fall into water, almost drowning, being rescued by Gunnar, being carted around and then falling asleep in his robes.

Sitting up, a pained groan escaped his lips. His joints hurt from sleeping on such a flatbed and from being still the whole night. His skin felt itchy from having slept in full robes. And his hair clumped together in rough patches.

Pushing the furs off himself, he rubbing his eyes. He was… in the Whelp Quarters if he remembered correctly. He was supposed to have just closed his eyes for a brief rest, however judging by the soreness in his body he was sure that he had slept half the day away. It had almost been sunrise when he had to arrive… so it had to be early evening, perhaps?

Looking around, he saw that all the other beds were devoid of any body. Including the bed he knew that the strange elf Bruniik had passed out on. Though his discarded clothing was laying on the floor, so perhaps he had just missed him?

Swinging his legs down, he was greeted with his feet touching the bare, icy stone of the floor. Quickly yanking his legs back up, he grabbed for his boots and gave them a once over. The stitching was more frayed then it had been hours prior, which meant that ice was the only reason they had stuck together so long. However, they looked like they could handle another day or two, if he decided not to go trekking through the snow again.

Slipping them on, he let his feet slide lazily to the ground. The coldness that greeted them was bearable, at least, so he fixated on adjusting his robes and making himself presentable. If he was going to make a good impression on the man that was going to help him get home, then he needed to look like he actually gave a damn about anything.

He managed to get his robes adjusted and laid out flat, as he did manage to sleep in one position. Though they were a bit hard and scratchy in some spots, though that was beyond his ability to simply fix, as that meant that they needed a good scrubbing from whatever was in the waters that almost was his watery grave.

That left his hair, which he briefly lamented keeping so long. He tried combing his fingers through it, carefully picking apart the knots and clumps, and then hunting around the small room for some matter of brush. However, even everything seemed to fail, he searched his pockets for the two pieces of thin leather that he tried to keep on his person at all times. Finding them, he managed to get his fingers to duplicate the same messy ponytail that Bethany was always fond of weaving from his hair. Tieing at the base of his skull and then at the end, he figured that he was presentable enough.

Wobbling to his feet, he started staggering up the stairs to the room that had been host to the wild party the night prior. Now there was a mostly empty room, even most of the bottles from the night before had been removed. The only thing that remained was Bruniik, collapsed onto a table while Gunnar sat next to him, scribbling inside of a book, and the dark haired girl from the night prior, reading from a rather thick tome.

Looking up from his book, Gunnar nodded silently at him, motioning him over. Figuring that Bruniik was suffering a hangover, he silently went to join the old warrior. Taking a seat, Gunnar gently tapped Bruniik's shoulder. With a comical snort, the elf snapped up, eyes still bleary and red.

"Hawke, this is Bruniik. Bruniik, this is Hawke" Gunnar grinned.

"Hello Hawke" Bruniik said, rubbing his eyes and then running his fingers through his hair.

"Greeting, Bruniik"

"So… I hear you had a run in with our realm's Prince of Madness. Tricky being that Sheogorath is" Bruniik said.

"What do you think of my situation?" He asked, fearing the worst.

"I think… you may be out of your realm, Hawke. Sheogorath is a being known as a Daedric Prince that reside on the plane of Oblivion. He finds his kicks in driving mortals mad, causing trouble and generally fucking with things...Ray… Ray dear please give me my book back"

Scowling, the dark haired tossed his book into the air, Gunnar catching it before the corner could slam into Bruniik's temple. Handing it over, the golden skinned elf popped open the book to a page with an intensely detailed picture of a milky eyed man in a strange set of garbs.

"He generally likes to watch mortals, elves and the Beast races squirm around. So I have to assume that you are an important person where you're from" Bruniik said, long fingers trailing across the pages.

"...Sadly I am. I am the Champion of Kirkwall, an honorary title more or less, but I saved the city from a dangerous threat. I am supposed to be keeping the sanity between the Templars and the Mages, make sure that they do not exact full scale war on each other. So, I guess you can say that being the Champion of Kirkwall is more or less my front for keeping sanity through the whole damned world"

"...Yeeeuuup, Sheogorath is at work here. Maybe he is hoping to cause some world wide chaos. Anyway, we'll get you home, don't you worry" Bruniik sighed "I've had my fair share of deals with the Princes and such… while I wait for this headache to reign itself in, let me hear about your realm Hawke, it sounds interesting"

* * *

Sometime later, after telling the enthralled elf as much as he could without having to trudge up all those old history and culture, a few people trickled back in. The green man, the cat, the little elf, and a big bald man. They looked tired beyond salvation, and the big green one seemed pissed, or perhaps that was just they way he carried his heavy brow?

"You lot look happy" Bruniik chuckled.

"Do not tease Od, please don't" The big cat rumbled in a strange accent.

"Never...drinking...again" The big bald man grumbled.

"Oh you big milk drinker, you'll be up and drinking again before you know it" Bruniik teased.

The red haired and eyed elf scowled deeply at the golden skinned one, before shooting him a strange look. He pointed with an eyebrow cocked inquiringly.

"This is the friend that Gunnar brought over last night, when you lot couldn't even see straight" Bruniik said "Meet William Hawke, or just Hawke as he seems to prefer"

He was staring too intently at the giant cat, slightly awed and terrified that something like it existed.

"He is from a different realm, here on the whims of Sheogorath. The realm he is from, there are dwarves, and only two different kinds of elves, and these giant men known as Qunari, and mages are oppressed"

"...Have you been drinking again, Bruniik? Because that sounds like drunk talk" The big cat asked.

"Really? Hawke, what do you think Od is? Other than odd?"

Blinking, he fumbled with his words.

"A giant cat... possibly given life through use of blood magic... perhaps a demon of the Fade fused with a cat?" He muttered.

Eyeing him as though HE had been the one drinking, the big cat turned back to Bruniik, then back to him, and then back at Bruniik. He opened his mouth, revealing a set of rather deadly looking teeth, and then closed it again. He looked he wanted to say something, but then the big green one just shook his head and urged the big cat towards the table.

The little elf, with steps that were more silent than death, came over and took a seat on the table next to Bruniik. He pulled out a small notepad and a piece of charcoal. He scribbled something down and handed it to Bruniik. Bruniik scanned it over, scowled, and then handed it back.

"Hmm… I was sure that it was there...I'll keep looking for you, Anton"

Bobbing his head, the elf scribbled something elf scribbled something else down and handed it to him. Taking it, he saw that the elf had rather neatly scrawled something down.

'_Hello, my name is Anton. My throat was carved out years ago, so pardon if I use notes_'

"No problem, Anton" He said, handing the note back.

"Little Anton here is our designated rouge. Little guy could probably pick a man's pocket and then stab him in the back with alerting a soul…" Bruniik noted that Anton was glaring "Pardon me, he doesn't steal. But he will stab you in the back if he wants too"

Pouting, the silent elf decided that he had enough of the larger elf, because he went to go sit on the lap of the big bald man's lap.

"Oh, you should know this Hawke. We have managed to cultivate the largest selection of gay warriors, rogues and mages under the sun. Seriously, it's strange how we've managed it. Anton and Stenvar over there are together, Od and Ghorbash are together, Gunnar and Vilkas are together, I think Alea is having a fling with a pretty dark elf girl, Farkas is being far too secretive about who he's screwing around with but I have my money on a male. And after a few drinks, I drop my pants for anyone" Bruniik said, sounding rather giddy like he was talking about something scandalous.

"...What makes you think I would mind?" He said.

"I don't know, just thought I would tell you before you start flirting with the guys around here" Bruniik grinned.

"...And what makes you think I would start flirting?" He scowled.

"Because I am not the age I am without knowing a few things. Posture, manner of speaking, mannerism, the way you look at people. You my good sir, are not only pining after men, but are probably on the receiving end of such pining" Bruniik said with a leer.

Blushing from ear to ear, he scowled darkly at the elf.

"Correct, but I am spoken for"

Brunniik just laughed, patting his shoulder good heartedly.

"I don't judge. If I did, then I would have to start feeling very ashamed of all that I have bedded or jumped into bed with...very ashamed...actually, I would have to live in solitude from the sheer shame… by the Nine, I'm starting to feel shame just from thinking of the shame I should feel" Bruniik said, scratching at his chin "The only person that would feel my pain is Gunnar, but don't tell Vilkas"

They stared at one another for a long moment. Bruniik staring wide eyed at him, and him staring with a rather shocked expression to what had just been confessed to him. And for a very long moment, they just stared.

And then they burst out laughing, Bruniik's yellow eyes tearing up as he buried his face in his arms. And... he did not know what was so funny, and the more he tried to think about why it was so funny, he just laughed harder and harder. He did not remember the last time he laughed, let alone this hard, and it felt... good. Perhaps being Champion, the head of his family, a mage and having the sanity of a city resting on his shoulders had killed a lot of joy in his life, and perhaps being away from it all was giving him the much needed break that he needed.

After a few moments, they reined themselves in for a few moments, letting the rip roaring laughter die down to chuckles and then giggles, until they were catching their breath and wiping away tears.

"Oh Hawke, you are a hoot" Bruniik chuckled "Please, stay as long as you can"

"I think I will" He smiled.

Was it bad that he did not feel bad about just tossing his responsibilities? That he felt no guilt about leaving his estate, his friends, his siblings and that damned loony city to its own vices? That he did not care if he saw any of it again? He wanted to feel bad… but, he just did not.

"But, if you are going to stay, we need to do something about those robes. What mage worth their salt goes around in dress robes?"

"These are my adventuring garbs" He said in defense.

"...Good gods, Hawke. You do come from a strange place"

He just chuckled.


	6. Imaginary Wounds

He managed to get the strange elf to start talking about magic in his realm, more specifically about the schools. Destruction, Conjuration, Restoration, Alteration and Illusion. And while Bruniik was telling him about the benefits that each school had to each class, which were best and how a little bit of magic could make a good warrior great, a average thief masterful and such.

It was… enjoyable to hear about magic without someone going on and on about the 'evils' of it. Especially to someone who was a master in the matters of magic. He had no one, especially after his had lost his father to death's grip, and then his sister to the Circle. And if he wanted to talk to anyone in the Circle, it was expected for him to join the Circle. So the conversation was… pleasant.

About the time that Bruniik was about to talk individual spells, Gunnar and Vilkas returned. Apparently, while they were talking, the two had gone off somewhere. And somewhere adventurous, as they were smudged with grime, dirt and blood, as was their weapons.

"And all the jobs are done for the day" Gunnar grinned, his cheeks smudged with blood "Great job, you drunkards"

The ones that had trickled in through the day only groaned in response.

"Any more drinking through the night?" Gunnar laughed.

"NO!" Came the resounding answer.

"Good" Gunnar said before trotting over to where they sat. He propped his large greatsword against the table, flecks of thick blood stains falling to the floor "So, what do you think, come up with ways with sending Hawke home?"

"I have a few ideas, I'm going to have to do some experimenting to see what will actually work" Bruniik said with true eagerness "But it might be a few weeks until then... months perhaps"

"A few weeks huh? Are you willing to stay that long Hawke?" Gunnar asked.

"More the willing, if you are just as willing to put up with me" He said.

"Of course. I'll even help you start earning some gold if you're hankering for some adventure" Gunnar grinned, thumping his chest friendly like "So, if you're going to stay for that long, we need to get you some decent clothes... Balthor might have something...Brun?"

"That sleazy little man or the enchanter up in the Jarl's place, I do believe" Bruniik said "Shall I?"

"If you would"

"Alright, let's go Hawke" Bruniik said, getting to his feet.

As he rose to his feet, Bruniik tried to reach out and grab a bottle of wine from the table. Gunnar reached over and smacked the hand, mock glowering while Bruniik mocked pouted. But then Gunnar thumped the Archmage's back and shoved him towards the door.

"Get out of here, you drunk fucker" Gunnar chuckled.

Bruniik lead them out the door, but not before shouting over his shoulder

"Crotchety old man!"

"Old man? Says the fucker almost three hundred years old" Gunnar called back.

"Two hundred and ninety eight, thank you very much" Bruniik called back before closing the doors behind them.

It was sunset outside, and the air was taking a biting chill to it. He pulled his robes tighter around himself. Bruniik just dusted himself off before motioning him to follow him, down the steps, past the tree and then into the small marketplace set up.

People were milling around, a few children running from here to there. He spied a tanned elf standing behind a counter hold meats, salts and a few pelts, an old woman standing behind a jewelry counter and an older woman standing behind a produce counter. A child ran by him, ruffling his robes.

"So, what do you think of the Companions, Hawke?" Bruniik asked as he lead them to a building in the marketplace.

"A large, disfunctional but loving family" He said.

"Hah! Most say 'drunken mercs', nice to see someone see us as we really are" Bruniik grinned "One big happy, disfunctional, drunk family… well, we're working on the drunk part at least"

Opening the door, Hawke saw the inside of what looked like one of the shops in Lowtown. A bit bare, and definitely nowhere near as clean and neatly organized as a shop in Hightown, however that usually meant that whatever was there did not cost nearly as much and was made to actually last. Hopefully. If he was going to be stuck in robes that would fail him like the ones he had gotten in Hightown.

"Ah, the Archmage, what can I do for you?" The darkly tanned man behind the counter asked.

"Have any...hmmm, you would need...ah! Any mage robes with Destruction enchantments on them? And a pair of good boots, the ones with the fur on the insides" Brunniik asked.

"Hmm, Destruction? Let me check" The man said, before disappearing into the back room.

When the man was safely out of earshot, the Archmage leaned against the counter casually.

"Belethor might be a sleazy little man, but he's usually got a few robes that passing adventurers and the Companions loot on their travels" Bruniik said "No many mages in Whiterun, so if you want something specific you might actually have to go to the College, or to a Hold with more mages. That, or go up to the Jarl's palace to bother the Jarl's mage. I personally don't like going into Jarl's palaces, simply because everyone usually thinks I'm Thalmor, or you walk away with some favor to do"

"What is a Thalmor?" He asked.

"Thalmor… oh boy...the Thalmor is a branch of the Aldmeri Dominion. The Thalmor wish to root out and destroy the worship of a god named Talos, after a whole lot of messes in Valenwood. Not only that, but many believe that elves are superior in every which way there is. At the head of this bullshit? The Altmer, or the High Elves. These are the golden skinned elves, such as myself"

"Oh… are you a Thalmor?" He asked.

Bruniik started at him a moment, lips tight. But then Belethor came back with some robes of dark browns, beiges and greens. He even presented a cowl and the pair of winter boots.

"Adept robes of Destruction, what do you think?" Belethor asked with a grin.

Bruniik blinked rapid, looking down at the presented robes. He nodded once, tightly, and then dumped a lot of coin onto the counter, throwing the robes over one arm and then walking out of the building.

Fearing that he had said something troubling, he went after the strange elf, hoping to at least apologize for his accusation. Once thinking about it, he realized that perhaps accusing the man that was in charge of him getting home of being a 'elf supremacist' was not only exceptionally rude, but also out of bounds. Outside, he saw Bruniik heading back to the Companion's home, the Archmage's legs were long, so it took him a few strides catch up.

"Bruniik? Bruniik, I am sorry. I did not mean-" He started.

"No, no, no, Hawke. I'm not mad" Bruniik half smiled "Just...It's been awhile since those days"

"Those days… so, ex-Thalmor?" He asked cautiously.

"Yes, but it has been many, many years since those days. Many, many, many, and I hold those memories with no fondness. If I see Thalmor nowadays, I shoot fire first, never talk" Bruniik said.

"Oh...I shall endeavor to not bring them up again" He said.

"You really are a good man, Hawke. I don't see why you'd want to go back to that dreadful Kirkwall" Bruniik grinned.

...Would he want to go back?

It had been two days and he did not miss a thing. Not his siblings, not his estate, not the fame, not the coins, not his friends, not his dog… he hardly missed Fenris even. Sure, there was always Templar fear, fear of Tranquility, fear of his brother's abuse, fear of whether or not Fenris' words would make him quiver or make him loath himself. But...

Did that make him a terrible man?

"...Did I say something out of line?" Bruniik asked.

"No… no, no" He muttered "Just…"

"...Hawke. You have told me about your realm, about how the mages are treated. I have seen the way you walk, the way you act, the way you talk. You have the stride of someone who has been abused, used and tossed around for most of their life. You have probably lost family, close family. Hawke… do you want to stay here, in Skyrim?" Bruniik asked.

They were stopped by the tree at the end of the steps to the Companions' homes. The gentle fragrance of the tree had the faintest cool tint as the air cooled with the coming night.

"...The responsible answer, would be 'No, I must return to Kirkwall to resume my duties as Champion'" He said dryly "The selfish answer would be 'Yes, I want to get away from the abuse, the hate, every horrible thing that happens to me in that Maker forbidden city'..."

"And what shall you be? Responsible for an entire city, or selfish of your own needs?" Bruniik said.

"...For that… I have no answer" He said helplessly.

"Well… let's give it time. They say it can cure a lot. For now, let's get you back and I'll show you how to put on their robes. Believe it or not, it's harder than it looks" Bruniik smiled.

"And you do not think that these robes have their fair share of buckles, buttons, layers and intricate folding instructions?" He retorted.

"...Really?"

"These robes did not cost twenty sovereigns for no reason" He said.

"What's a sovereign?"

"A gold coin?"

"We've got septums here, they're gold coins" Bruniik explained as they walked up the steps "And twenty septums really isn't much"

"Well, I assure you, it is a lot in Kirkwall"

"What an assbackwards city"

* * *

_A fist connected with his jaw, rattling his teeth and opening his lip wound more. Crimson dripped down from pale petals. He heard yelling and screaming, and felt the fingers digging into the flesh of his throat dig in deeper, until more crimson dripped down his body. _

_Whispers in his ears, telling him to use the crimson to paint hatred and abuse with death and pain. Whispers telling him to rip, shred, tear and attack. Whispers telling him to reach into his crimson, to take the power flowing alongside the beautiful red. Whispers telling him to kill Carver._

_Another punch to his jaw, hard enough to rattle his brain. He slumped in his brother' grasp, the whispers turning into screaming. He could no longer hear his mother calling out over Carver's enraged yelling. He could not hear Bethany's screaming, telling Carver to back off before she set his ass on fire. He could not hear Gamlen's terrified shrieking. He only heard the screaming to end it all in a wave of glorious blood._

_He wanted to tear Carver limb from limb, rip his organs out and choke him with them. He wanted to pull out Carver's hair, his eyes, his fingernails, his teeth, his fingers and his toes. He wanted to strip the flesh from Carver's worthless hide. He wanted-_

_Light, breeze, air chilling the crimson. The screaming stopped, and he could only hear silence. And it was the most beautiful thing that he could hear._

_Carver's grip disappeared, hands grabbing at his shoulders and dragging him towards the light. He watched as a red haired, steel angel kicked Carver aside, nailing him a few times for vengeance's sake. He was pulled to his feet, he smelled spices and saw dark strands as a lean arm wrapped around his chest. He felt something against the back of his knees, saw white hair as he was hauled out of the dark house. A glowing hand touched his stained face._

_As he was pulled out into the light, a smile graced his face._

* * *

Starting awake, his arms flailed in a vain attempt to dispel the furs from himself. His chest heaved with each breath as cold sweat dripped from his skin.

The full force of missing his friends hit him, and a painful pinch latched onto his heart.

It took several moments of thinking of Templars before the pain ebbed. Of thinking of the abuse, of his brother, of Tranquility, thinking of the weight of an entire city on his shoulders. He had to think about his drunk bastard of an uncle, of his cold and dead mother, of his even colder and dead father. He had to think of all the insults, demands, slurs and venom filled words.

And the pain stopped. He did not miss his friends. He did not miss Kirkwall. He did not miss the abuse. He did not miss the Templars. He did not miss anything.

And with that in mind, he lay back down and fell back asleep.


	7. Questioning Beliefs

The next morning, he awoke to the Companions groggily getting up and about. Slipping his boots on, wiggling his toes around to feel the fur on the insides, he wondered idly what he was going to do. As much as simply talking magic with Bruniik was the previous day, he was starting to feel antsy from doing close to nothing. After so many years of filling his days with adventures, it was hard to simply not too.

Upstairs, Gunnar and Bruniik were already up and ready for the day as the other Companions worked their way to that point. He was unsure if he should have talked to the old warrior and the Archmage, unsure what he needed to do. There was just... nothing that no one expected him to do, so he was unsure of his first few steps.

However, upon seeing him, Gunnar waved him over. When he took a seat next to Bruniik, the old warrior offered him a smile.

"Alright lad, wondering if you're willing to help out around here while Bruniik does his magic thing"

"Depends on the task, I suppose" He said "But more than willing to help if it is within my ability to help"

"Perfect! Bruniik needs to go gather things, however, you don't want to run around with the man. I tried for three days and not only was I confused, but I wanted to strangle him" Gunnar grinned, avoiding the mock punch from the Archmage "So, I figured I would treat you like all the other tag-alongs my Companions bring along. You'll just be an unofficial Companion that I'll stick with someone willing to have you along, alright?"

"I...Will anyone have me?" He asked.

"I'm sure that someone won't mind you at least tagging along. Besides, I can always make someone play along" Gunnar said "And besides, you know what a second person means to the Companions, right?"

"No, I do not"

"Dragon hunting" Gunnar smirked.

"Dragons? I have hunted dragons before" He said.

"Oh? What kind lad?"

"Mostly the smaller, younger ones. I was part of a small team that took down a High Dragon"

"High Dragon? Sounds interesting... yeah, lad, you're going to be picked up quick" Gunnar grinned, nearly from ear to ear.

There was about an hour devoted to getting the other Companions up and about. Gunnar had to actually go back downstairs and haul up people. He had to do it twice for a red haired woman, as she snuck off after the first. For the most part, people munched on food and talked among themselves.

At one point, Vilkas joined him by Bruniik... except something seemed wrong. His hair, was it always that long? And was he not wearing different armor?

"Hello there, Farkas" Bruniik said, eyeing a bottle of mead.

"Hey" The man gruffed.

"Farkas... you look a lot like Vilkas" He noted.

"They're twins dear boy" Bruniik grinned "You should have been here that month we pulled that prank on Gunnar. Cut Farkas' hair short, slapped identical armor on the two of them and told them not to speak and watched Gunnar react"

"Gunnar chased you around, threatening to shove his sword up your ass" Farkas noted bluntly.

"...It was funny until he got pissed" Bruniik sighed with a smile "And it was funny when Vilkas pulled him off me"

"So, the Harbinger tells me you've hunted dragons before" Farkas said to him.

"Yes, though mostly younger ones"

"Hmm" Was the only response.

Shortly afterwards, Gunnar called out that it was time to pick jobs. That cut the idle chatter as Gunnar opened a book that he had seen the old warrior writing in the day prior.

"Alright pups, now as a few of you heard, we have a guest here in the Companions" Gunnar said, talking loud enough to keep the attention on him "His name is William Hawke, and due to a magical mishap, is now with us. Bruniik will be around a bit more, helping Hawke get home. In the meantime, be nice, or I give him permission to set your ass on fire"

Gunar flipped through his book, settling on a page with a few notes inside

"Alright. Hawke has volunteered to help out with jobs, so whoever gets him gets one of the harder jobs. And you pups know what harder jobs mean, right?"

"More money!"

"A challenge for once"

"Getting to see if Hawke is more than a pretty face?"

"...You're all a bunch of mouthy pups" Gunnar laughed.

The old warrior started listing off a number of odd jobs. Most of which involved going somewhere and killing something. Most he could not place a name with a picture inside of his head, like skeevers, sabercats, hagravens and such. The red hair woman took a job hunting down a bear, which he understood. When it came down to Anton, that cat man, the girl, Farkas and himself, Gunnar listed off some... harder jobs.

"Alright pups, I've got a Giant camp, a Necromancer camp, and two dragons" Gunnar said "Who wants what?"

"I want one of the dragons" The girl said, already getting to her feet and ushering her blonde male friend to join her.

"Here's the order" Gunnar said, holding the paper for the girl to pluck up as she passed.

"Od-kaaz will take the Giants" The cat man said, following the girl's example and taking the piece of paper from Gunnar. The large green man followed him.

"I'll take the other dragon, and Hawke" Farkas said.

"Alright, hear that Hawke? Dragon time" Gunnar grinned "That means that you've got Necromancers, Anton. Now get moving you lot, I want most of your asses back here as soon as you're done, alright lads and lasses?"

* * *

It was suggested that he packed for three days traveling, as the job would take about a day or two to get there and back. The actual job probably would not take more than an hour.

"I spent over three hours shooting fireballs, healing my two warriors and dragging my rouge away from the beast because she thought it would make an interesting story to shove her daggers up its arse" He grumbled to himself.

Gunnar offered him a pack, and some dry rations, telling him that he should loot whatever seemed valuable and they would sell it when they got back.

"Now, Farkas is a great guy. Mostly quiet, really blunt" Gunnar told him as the old warrior waited by the door for people to amble out, smacking a few out the door when they took too long "But he's the one I send with most new guys if I need to test them. He's also a good warrior, uses two handed weapons. Also a damn good blacksmith, if you can believe it"

He nodded, watching Gunnar swat Od-Kaaz on the shoulder, half expecting the giant cat to turn around and smack Gunnar across the room. Od-Kaaz just grumbled and half jogged down the steps with the green man in tow. It made him wonder about a creature that size and his temperament.

"Anyway, you're going to Eldersblood Peak. Nice place, a little hard to get to, but it should be no problem. I think there are frost trolls there, quite a lot actually. Thankfully there are two of you. You… know healing spells, right?"

"A good one, yes"

"Nothing to worry about!" Gunnar grinned as Farkas approached "Now hop to it, I'm already getting nervous"

Following the younger warrior out the doors, he trailed after him down the steps. They passed the black haired girl as she entered one of the shops in the little center, and then Anton at what looked like a smithy as he sharpened two very deadly looking daggers. And then they were out the front gates and down the path that lead out of the city.

They passed the red haired woman, who simply nodded before taking off across the fields. They also saw the dark skinned elf in the distance, running into the woodland areas not too far from the city.

Farkas started leading the way, heading Northwest along a paved road. And they walked in contented silence for awhile. The old warrior had told him that Farkas was quiet, but even shy little Merrill had been more talkative her first few days with his ragatag little group. Of course, most of the time she was nervously rambling while the rest of the group remained silent. But still.

Perhaps he just had too many questions that he figured that Farkas could answer. He knew magical questions would have to wait for Bruniik, but Farkas could answer questions about the Companions, right? Gunnar said that Farkas was a nice guy...

"...So, Gunnar is rather father like" He noted, trying to start conversation.

"It's why my brother married him" Farkas said.

That… was not what he was expecting. And his surprise must have shown on his face, because Farkas looked over and chuckled.

"One of the reasons" He smiled.

"...That is… that is… that is perhaps a little more information than I had expected to find out about your brother" He admitted "I propose a change of subject, if you will help carry it. What manner of creature is Od-Kaaz?"

"Od? He's a Khajiit"

"And these… Khajiit, are they fairly common in this realm?"

"More South than North, but we've got a few caravans that make a circuit around the map. They're nice folk"

"...They are giant cats"

"And?"

"Nothing. Just clarifying that no such thing exists where I come from"

They walked in silence for awhile longer.

"Do you have any siblings, Hawke?" Farkas suddenly asked.

"Yes, two younger siblings. Twins actually, Bethany and Carver" He said.

"Either like you?"

"Bethany is a mage yes, though due to a few wagging tongues and a lopsided deal with the Templars, she is currently being held in the Circle" He explained.

"I heard about that, that where you're from, mages get treated a lot different" Farkas said "I don't understand magic much, but it sounds ridiculous"

"Perhaps from where you are standing. Here I am told that everyone has magical aptitude, that even the burliest of warriors can learn a little bit of magic. The realm I hail from, only a few are born with the ability to wield magic, and they are treated like they may turn around and set fire to a village simply because they can. Many are taken away from their families about the ages of five to seven and kept in the Circle from that time to the time that they are killed, turned Tranquil or killed by Templars or their Harrowing"

"Turn Tranquil? Harrowing?" Farkas asked.

"Ah… that is right. This realm does not have such things… To be turned Tranquil is basically to have one's emotions, dreams, one's reason for existence, to be ripped away. You no longer care for anything, you no longer see colors, you no longer dream. Almost like having your head chopped off and letting the headless corpse walk around" He said with a shudder.

"That sounds terrible, how does anyone get away with that?"

"Because us mages are viewed as monsters, not people" He said flatly "It is made worse with the Harrowing. If I am correct, you are either placed inside a realm of demons, or have a demon placed inside of you. If you do not lose to the corruption, you get to be a slave to the Circle. If you do you are killed"

"How did you escape?" Farkas asked. He looked entirely enthralled in the subject.

"I never went to the Circle. My father escaped by means of a kind hearted Templar, and he raised me away from it. And the the reason I had continued to live away from it was because my sister was forced to go to the Circle while my brother practically skipped into Templar arms" He said bitterly.

"Your brother wanted to be a bastard?"

"He already was one, now he just gets paid to be one" He sighed.

"Are you even thinking of going back? Honestly, it sounds like you should stay here" Farkas said, looking to genuinely convince him to stay.

"I… I do not know. The longer I stay here, the more appeal it has. But all my friends, my family, my commitments are back in that Maker damned city. I want to stay, but I have to go back, if that makes sense"

"No, it doesn't" Farkas said, stopping.

It was starting to snow. It seemed that while talking, they had made quite a bit of leeway to their destination. He pulled his hood up over his head, but he still felt cold for some reason.

"Honestly, it sounds better here then there. You haven't really talked about your friends or family, so they can't mean that much to you. And you seem… I don't know, happy? At least a little. Gunnar talked to me a bit, about how you were when he pulled you out of the water. You were happy to be here, you walked like you were afraid to draw attention to yourself, you were worried that someone was going to turn you over even after you were told they weren't" Farkas said "It doesn't sound like you want to leave, you don't look like you want to leave, and honestly? Only two days with us and a few of us don't want you to leave"

"I-"

"And these friends of yours? If they loved you as much as you want to make them appear to, wouldn't they be here by now? Wouldn't you have heard something from them?"

"...I-"

"Why don't you stay?"

"...I do not know at this point" He admitted "...Can we go kill this dragon, please?"

The big warrior only nodded and they continued on their way.


	8. Letting It Go

Snow crunched underfoot as they approached the high rise of stone where the dragon sat on top. He saw the curl of the creature's wings as it seemed oblivious to their approach. The creature was not the toxic purple that the High Dragon he had fought. It was a duller, worn blue color, and with far less spikes and pointed edges then the High Dragon.

He gripped his staff and looked to Farkas for a sign from the warrior. Farkas took a moment to look the scaly beast up and down, and then motioned for him to duck behind a tree.

"What kinda mage are you?" He asked.

"Force- I mean… offensive" He said.

"Alright, I'll get in close, you start attacking from afar?" Farkas suggested, unsheathing his greatsword.

"Sounds like a plan" He said readying his staff.

"Alright, here we go" Farkas said before running out and towards the beast.

There was no way he could reach the dragon from its rocky resting spot. So he stood back and hollered

"Over here!"

The dragon lifted its head, revealing a pair of curved horns. It growled, and… rumbled something in a strange language that shook the air. It...spoke? A dragon spoke? The most that the High Dragon spat out was fireballs at him. Were the dragons that different in this realm that they could actually speak?

Regardless, the dragon spread its wings, beating them a few times and then taking off into the air as Farkas took off to take cover. And figuring that this was his time to fight, he twirled his staff around and started shooting blasts of basic ice magic at the creature. The trails of ice magic streamed after the dragon, the magic that flowed through him and his staff making sure that they did not miss. With crisp pops, they hit the dragon's back legs and tail, ripping a roar from the scaly beast.

Flying around, the dragon swooped in low, finding a nice spot to hover above the ground to look for him. He ducked behind some trees, looking around for Farkas. The dragon was still out of the warrior's reach, but it would probably rely on the warrior to deal a good chunk of the damage, as he had to rely on Fenris and Aveline to deal out damage against the High Dragon. As good as his magic was, nothing he could throw out that could do much damage against an armored opponent.

A jet stream of fire suddenly flowed out from around the tree he was hiding behind. And suddenly he was glad that he was not in those old flowing robes of his. He would have caught fire easily, ruining them further and probably causing a few burns himself.

The jet stream stopped and he heard the dragon flying around. He ducked from behind the tree as it smoked. The dragon looked to be trying to find a spot to land, or perhaps looking for Farkas or himself. Adjusting the grip on his staff, he moved to get to a clear spot, digging the butt of his staff into the earth to force his magic into the ground and then sent out a stone fist at the creature. The stone projectile slammed into the creature's side. Startled that it was hit with a stone, the dragon flinched in mid air.

That hesitation was the only thing that he needed to fling a much stronger ice spell at the dragon, icing over the dragon's left wing. The added weight caused the dragon to swerve dangerously, dipping low and colliding into a mass of trees.

Twirling his staff again, he went after where it landed, hoping to get in a few more hits. Weaving in and out of trees, he followed where he heard the rumble of the beast's breathing and its movements. Following the sounds of breaking wood, he eventually had the sounds of the dragon roaring and thrashing about. Likely Farkas, as he recognized the sound of metal striking the armored scales of the dragon.

Weaving through the last few trees, he came upon the the Companion slicing at the creature's face as it snapped at him, grounded with the skin of its left wing torn and sliced open where the ice had suddenly been broken. He saw the dragon's teeth try to clamp down on Farkas, more then ready to devour the warrior. Probably would have, if he had not used his magic to condense gravity just underneath the beast's belly, slamming the dragon's long neck and head against the ground. And with the dragon down, Farkas' sword came down hard along a soft section between a set of scales.

Blood licked the air, and the dragon's last breath rushed out in a rumble. And there was silence for a moment as Farkas wiped the blood off on a cloth. As the great beast's body grew still and snow landed on the creature's great body, dusting worn greys and blues with white, Farkas sheathed his sword and trotted over.

"That was… quicker than I'd expected" He said "Didn't think that mage's had that rock spell, or whatever you did to pin it like you did"

"It is magic from my realm, using magic to control the earth and gravity" He said.

"You'll have to show Brun that one" Farkas said simply before turning back to the dragon's body "Let's get the thing's skull to take back to Gunnar"

"We have to take the skull back? Proof of the kill?" He asked.

"That and dragons work in a weird way. They can come back unless the soul is eaten" Farkas said, taking out a small knife from his belt "You'll… have to… ask Gunnar about it all works. Let's just say, that Gunnar needs to be the ones to kill the dragons, or else they can come back"

"I guess I will… because that does not make much sense, Farkas" He sighed as Farkas started carving out the creature's skull.

"Not much does in the Companions, once you find out everything" Farkas said.

* * *

After scraping most of the skin of the skull, the scooping out everything inside, they used a few strips of cloths to fixate it into sling and the got it onto Farkas' for him to carry, as the bones proved not only incredibly dense for a creature that was capable of flight, but overall incredibly heavy. Though Farkas did not seem too bothered by the weight. Probably because of the warrior's impressive muscle mass.

When the skull was in place, they began the walk back.

He wanted to remain in silence, because his mind wanted to think. He wanted to look at his situation logically, but at the same time to think about it with his heart as well. If he denied it, then he would end up like he did in Kirkwall.

He thought about the good things in Kirkwall. His friends, the stories that Varric and Isabela told. The passionate debates with Anders and Merrills over the use of magics. The gentle touches and smoky voice of Fenris during the long nights.

And then he thought about the bad things. How he was hunted by all those that wanted him dead, in the Circle or made Tranquil. The Templars that hounded him to no end. His brother who continued to berate and physically abuse him at every chance. The sister that he never saw, nor could talk too. How even his own lover threw scalding second hand insults at him. The way that people sneered and dismissed him as a person when they found out that he was a mage. The threat that with the fade so close that he would always be perverted by demons.

And then there was the good things of the this realm. The fact that everyone was capable of using magic, therefore there was no such thing as the Chantry, Templars, the Harrowing or the Circle, and therefore most of what made his realm terrible. Fenris was not there to insult him, Carver was not there to beat him, the memories of his mother not there to throw everything onto him because she could not stand to hold anything of emotional weight. He was with good people that wanted to help him with little thought as to who he was.

And then the bad things… the bad things… there was the fact that he knew nothing of conduct, morals, traditions, cultures and inhabitants. But that could easily be fixed with listening to the inhabitants. He could accidentally insult someone… but again only because of his lack of cultural knowledge. And…

There really was almost nothing keeping him from leaving… was his life that hollow that he could just drop everything? That he could forget everything? Was he really that pathetic?

"Hawke, Hawke?"

"Sorry, I was thinking, you were saying?"

"I was wondering about this, elf, that Gunnar mentioned that we need to look out for? Fenris?"

"Ah… yes… Fenris looks like your realms Bosmer, in terms of skin tone and possibly size. White hair, green eyes, white branding like marks, as well as… thief like armor, but he carries a sword that almost matches Gunnar's in size" He said.

"Gunnar also said that you two were-"

"Yes, is that going to be a problem?" He said sternly.

"No, just look at the Companions, or my own brother" Farkas said simply "Just wondering...why, I guess?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well...Vilkas loves Gunnar because he older, wiser, father like if you want to go there. Ray loves Argis because he's open minded to her views, someone that she can depend on. Od loves Ghorbash because he saw the big softie that Od really was. Anton and Stenvar… not so sure, but they make a good team, and they're happy together" Farkas explained "I guess, I like finding out why people like each other, it's usually the best way to get to know them?"

"...I am not sure what drew me to Fenris. He was… wild, dangerous, he was worldly wise, and he seemed to have so much depth. I entertained the idea of a relationship for awhile, dropping clues and such. I was surprised when Fenris expressed interest back… he has such a hatred for magic"

"He hates magic?"

"Yes… he was a slave to a powerful mage for some time. He resents it"

"Sounds like he can't move on" Farkas noted.

"It sounds like it, but a reminder of his enslavement is burned into his skin, forever haunting him. I… understand his resentment, his hatred. Sometimes, I wish he would better care for anger, especially when he rants and raves about the evils of magic… but I understand. I still love him"

Farkas was quiet.

"Does he hurt you...physically?"

"What? No. Sometimes his grip is a little tight when he pulls me out of the way of danger, and our more intimate matters can be a bit… rough, but no, he has not been physically abusive. He can raise his voice sometimes, and it seems like he might, but he has never-"

"Alright" Farkas suddenly said.

And they walked in silence.

* * *

They stopped as it drew night, curling up in a pair of bedrolls for a few hours before going out again. And with no words or stops to stall them, they made it back to Jorrvaskr about midday. Inside, it seemed that most of the Companions had returned from their jobs, as most were milling about. A few seemed to be drinking a bit, though carefully avoiding the amounts that he had seen them drink.

Farkas walked over to Gunnar, who was talking with the black haired girl.

"Hey, Hawke, come here!" Bruniik called from the opposite side of the room. He was sitting with Anton.

Walking over to the archmage, he took a seat next to him. The golden skinned elf gave him a devious grin, eye bright with life and energy.

"So, these experiments of mine are underway. I've got Anton running around getting me some of the things needed from...places. I should have something in a week or so"

"Thank you, Bruniik"

"Call me Brun, everyone else does" Bruniik grinned "Oh, I was also wondering if you wouldn't mind a field trip to the college? I would love for you to show some of the teachers and apprentices some of your sp-"

"William Hawke!"

The room went silent and the air suddenly seemed heavy. Like an adult had just called for a child, clearly with the child in trouble. Now, it was not something Hawke was used to, let alone someone using his full name. So he found himself more than a little nervous as he silently stood up and looked to the old warrior.

Said old warrior was standing, arms crossed across his chest. His brow was dipped into a heavy and dangerous frown, as well as his mouth. The scar that ran the length of his face was a red color, tiny veins, bumps and dips pulsing angrily. Not only that, but his eyes were darkened in clear anger.

He jerked his head towards the doors that lead out behind Jorrvaskr, making a clear indication that he wanted him to go out there. And not wanting to test to see if Gunnar's rippling physique really did seem as powerful as it did, he nodded slightly and then walked out the backdoors, not sure what to expect.


	9. Honey and Poison

When his mother had been mad, she often guilt tripped him into giving into whatever would make her happy again. He saw himself as the burdensome mage child, he felt pressured to believe that his existence was a bother, and that he needed to make up for that. Somewhere along the lines, as his father passed, becoming head of the family, and then the Champion of Kirkwall, it felt natural to take the blame and burden of everyone and everything.

So, as he stepped outside and Gunnar pulled the doors closed behind them, he felt naturally that whatever Gunnar was mad about, it was his fault. So a full apology was waiting, just behind his lips to fall off his tongue like the hollow and practiced words they always were. But the look on Gunnar's faced made swallow those words thickly, almost choking on them.

Gunnar looked… angry, concerned, worried, upset… and just...was it possible for a human being to express so many emotions at one time?

"So...This Fenris is abusive?" Gunnar rumbled.

"No, he is not" He said calmly.

"From what I hear about him, yes he is" Gunnar rumbled.

"Fenris does not abuse m-"

"Does he or does he not make rude, offensive, or dark comments about mage and magic users?" Gunnar snapped.

"W-well, yes, but-"

"Knowing full well that you are a mage?"

"Yes, but he-"

"Does he yell at you?"

"Sometimes, but-"

"Does he damage or destroy any of your things?"

"Rarely, but Gunnar"

"Does he try to control you? Make you choose things that you don't really want?"

"Well… yes, but-"

"Has he ever hurt you physically?"

"No!"

"Really?"

"Well, maybe once or twice, but Gunnar-"

"Lad, just because he doesn't smack you around, doesn't not make it abusive" Gunnar said firmly, but with concern, caring "Fucking Oblivion Hawke, and here I was just hoping you were just shy and quiet"

"Gunnar-"

"No, listen" Gunnar snapped "Emotionally abusive relationships are the worst because the ones getting abused, don't see that they're getting abused. Hawke, you don't see it, do you?"

"I am not getting abused" He said firmly.

"And you're protecting him, you're protecting that no good son of a bitch" Gunnar rumbled.

"Stop! He is not abusive!" He snapped.

The air in his lungs felt cold, and he felt ice crystals forming on his hands, just waiting to unleash his magic-

Was he really abusive? The side remarks about magic were always insulting and slightly scalding. Having choices twisted around so that Fenris decided them. Making him dependent on the warrior elf. Having his mind swayed in favored of the elf. Having his bitter lack of character, backbone and courage encouraged, rather then changed.

No...no...no...no

His one comfort in that hellhole… and he could not see the stick on the on the other side of the carrot dangled in front of his eyes. Could he not have seen this before until the carrot was taken away? Was he really… was Fenris really abusing him?

Then he was right… the wolf was… the really was only using him for sex, just a hole to use. Or perhaps a twisted way to deal with the memories of Danarius. Abuse and toss about a mage and hoped that it settled the rage inside? He gave his heart to that bastard and he was tearing it apart! Why? He was not a blood mage! He was not evil! He was not happy being a mage!

No, no, no, no!

"He is not abusive!" He snapped angrily.

"Prove it" Gunnar said "When, and if at this point, he shows up, listen carefully to what he first says to you. If it's not immediately him asking about your well being, then I'm right. If it is, then you're right"

"Fine" He growled.

Gunnar's thick arms fell, a rough hand coming up to scratch at the length scratch along the lengthy scar along his face. He went from looking so pissed off to looking so tired in seconds. It was almost baffling for so much emotion to be inside of him.

"Look, lad, sorry for being all fussy and hardass with you, but this is serious" Gunnar sighed "And something that hits home"

Seeing Gunnar's heavy expression, the defeated slope of his broad shoulders, he could not find the heart to be mad at the old warrior. Perhaps this was just naturally instinctive father attributes coming through from having to babysit so many drunkards and simply being at the age that he was.

"How so?" He asked, taking a seat on a table top.

The old warrior laughed without humor.

"Vilkas? My husband? I found out recently that he was in an emotionally abusive relationship before I showed up in his life. The bastard pushed him around, insulted him, tried to control every aspect of his life, and Vilkas did not think that he was stuck in that gods awful spot until it became physical abuse. Sure, Farkas kicked his ass, but Vilkas… my Vilkas… was so horrified that he couldn't face him. I don't want to imagine how painful it was, or how deep the wounds go, I can only hope to never repeat any of those mistakes and bury the bad memories with good ones"

He listened impassively, not sure why the old warrior was revealing this to him. But it hurt, and made him think those awful thoughts that made him doubt Fenris.

"So yeah, if I see someone in something like that, you bet your sorry ass that I'll do something, wither I know them or not. I just… to think that could happen to anyone...I just, I just can't"

It was horrible, it was terrible, but the weakness in Gunnar's voice reminded him of the weakness, the defeat in Fenris' when he walked away that one night. Gunnar's weakness was that he was becoming overly passionate from defending those that were hurting. Fenris' had been from remembering all those memories at once. But still, the weak cracking in the voice, the sheer weight it seemed to carry, the way the mouth hung, and the churning emotions in the eye. All the same.

"I understand. I assure you, it is not abusive, just… not perfect. It is not the best, and at times, it is not that great. But it is mine" He said.

"Heh, if every relationship was perfect, there wouldn't be a problem in the world. It would be perfect if every couple got along swimmingly" Gunnar chuckled.

"It would, would it not?" He smiled.

"Yeah. Hey, let's head inside pup, there's stew tonight for dinner"

Getting up and opening the doors, several Companions fell, presumably having pressed against the door to listen to the conversation. Bruniik, who had to wriggle his way from underneath Od's large body, looked up at them, and then at the group and then back up at Gunnar.

"Hey! I told you lot to stop snooping!" He barked at the others picking themselves up.

"Oh shut it, it was your idea to listen" Rayvahn snapped, dusting herself off.

And he laughed with Gunnar.

* * *

"So, Hawke, tells us of this Fade" Bruniik said, slightly sloshed.

"Tell you what, exactly. There are literal libraries of just the Fade" He said.

"Oh… well...You say that mages can enter the Fade, right? What was your first time going into the Fade?" Bruniik asked.

"...When I was ten, I suppose. My family was hiding in a basement of a family friend. He made potions for a living. My sister, my brother and myself were tucked into the storage room, while my father and mother were hidden among the barrels that he used to store dry ingredients. Unbeknownst to use, there was a large bag of lyrium in the room that we were hiding in. Lyrium, in my realm, is used frequently by mages" He explained "It is often used in potions to replenish our magic after exhausting it, as well as entering the Fade"

He paused when he noted that he had quite a few heads turned his way, most adamant being Rayvahn and Bruniik, and then Gunnar as he sat next to Vilkas.

"As I was saying, Bethany and I as small, so the bag of Lyrium was enough. We were drawn in to it, opening the bag and exposing the dust. The next thing I knew, I was in the Fade, separated from Bethany who was elsewhere"

"What did it look like?"

"Like a nightmare. The sky was an ugly mix of grey, green and purple. The land was a dry, gritty, beige and was twisted this way and that, like it did not want to follow the rules of the earth. But worse than that, there were demons there"

"Demons?"

"Horrid creatures that feast on the sins of man. THe more complex the emotion, the more power a demon. Thankfully I was surrounded by lesser shades, and was able to easy get rid of them with the basic spells I did know at that age. However, there was a much more powerful demon watching. A powerful Desire demon that was on the lookout for a mage to possess to enter my realm"

He wanted to find the humor in having everyone's attention, even Od and the green man. Like telling a horror story. If only it was a horror story.

"She came to me, trying to sway my mind. She offered anything, anything I could have possibly wanted, if only to corrupt my mind. She wanted into my realm so badly, she offered me many things that I was sorely tempted to take. So many things that made me want to put my family in danger by letting that demon walk around in my skin, giving her a body that could not only use magic, but was young and still learning"

He swallowed thickly.

"I ran, trying to figure out a way out. That demon kept chasing me, whispering those awful things in my ears. Several times I tried to swing a spell at her, but she was able to bat my weak, basic spells away like a flung toy. I tried hiding, but she always found me. It felt like days that I was running around, trying to get away from her"

"...You...you got away, right?" Bruniik said "Obviously… but, I'm not say, talking to this demon, am I?"

"I did, more or less. I ran into another demon, a much more powerful Desire demon came. The weaker one was scared away, leaving me with the stronger one. This one was definitely male, and I could tell that he had far more power to his capabilities to control minds than the previous one. Thankfully, I was pulled out before the demon could speak. I think if my father had waited even a second more, or that demon had been given a chance to speak, then I would have been tempted and taken anything offered"

"Thank the Nine, I thought your story would have ended with how the demon tempted you and then you killing us all. I am too drunk for this shiiiiiiit" Bruniik sighed.

He could not help but chuckle as a relief showed in all the Companions. But even as everyone returned to just happily milling about, he could not help but taste the lingering bitterness of the lies on his tongue.

_'...I can offer you power like I did before… you can have so much more...'_ The honey laced poison still rung through his heads, years and years after they had been spewed between those tempting lips.

But… that was a secret he would take to the grave. No one needed to know about that bastard. No one needed to know that he was that weak. No one needed to know.


	10. A Little Sass Goes A Long Way

Another day came, there was no sign of his friends. And since he did not want to loiter around Jorrvaskr again, he offered his aid to anyone willing to put up with him.

As Gunnar listed off jobs, the ones left were Anton, Rayvahn and Od and then surprisingly Gunnar himself. It seemed like there was a surplus of jobs, meaning that he had to jump in and take a few, while those that brought the 'tag alongs' had to take on more than one job if there was one close by.

He called out numerous jobs, sometimes listing several in the same area. When it came down to the harder jobs, it was three giant camps, a dragon and a vampire nest, Necromancers and pirates, and then two dragons. The giants were picked up by Od, the Necromancers to Anton, the dragon and vampires to Rayvahn and then Gunnar took the two dragons and himself, grinning like a cat that got the cream.

"Alright you lazy slackers! Get your asses moving" Gunnar called as everyone got ready.

"Alright lad, we're fighting together today. We'll be heading out towards Windhelm, the city that you appeared close by, it'll take about two days back and forth. It might take longer to kill these dragons simply because there are two of them. Though, between me and you, it shouldn't take too long" Gunnar grinned at him.

"Would you not rather work with Vilkas?" He asked.

"I always love to work with Sonny" Gunnar smirked "However, he doesn't always want to work with me, so sometimes we do things apart. Stops me from driving him crazy"

"Do I have to worry about the next few days?"

Gunnar just laughed. That did not bode well, but at least he knew Gunnar was a good man. Not many men would worry over a stranger like Gunnar did with him. And he was a warrior, so their dou was at least somewhat balanced tactical wise.

Again with his borrowed pack, he waited with Gunnar while he ushered everyone out. He took a playful swing at Anton, who even though he had the old warrior to his back, ducked and turned back to quirk an eyebrow at old warrior. Said old warrior just laughed and playfully shoved him out the door. The silent elf just pitter-pattered after his burly, bald friend.

With everyone out, Gunnar closed and locked the door behind everyone and then casually started to walk down the steps. Even with the old warrior casually walking, he had to half jog to keep up. The man sure had long legs, or maybe it was sheer size to worked to his advantage.

"Since it is you, and since the target is dragons, may I ask you about them" He asked.

"Sure lad, though I warn you, I don't know all that much by my own"

"Why do you have to be the one to kill dragons? Can anyone of merit not do it and still vanquish the beast?"

"Ah...mmk lad, story time" Gunnar grinned.

As they walked along, Gunnar told him the stories of the dragons. How they had enslaved the human race into their puppets. And then how humans learned to use a power called a Thu'um, the power of the voice, to rebel.

"The voice?" He asked as they walked away from the city.

"Yeah, basically channeling essence into a Shout, using my voice to bend anything to my will" Gunnar explained.

"I am afraid I do not really understand" He admitted.

Gunnar's grin was so mischievous that he instantly felt regret for ever saying anything. And probably for good reason too, as Gunnar turned away from him and looked over at a field of wheat. The old warrior looked around first, eyeing a guard walking away from them, before turning back to the field.

Taking in a deep breath, the old warrior opened his mouth-

And a sound like a clap of thunder ripped through the air.

"Fus, RO DAH!"

The actual earth shook from the impact, the sturdy stalks of wheat flattened against the trembling earth, and the air echoed with the force like it was trembling from the sheer power. And just… he was awed to his bones.

"Wow" He breathed.

"Gotta move, lad" Gunnar said, heaving him up into one arm and then making a run for it as the guard they had seen earlier started running towards them "Guards don't like when I use that power, much less when I destroy property with it"

He did not blame them. For such a power to exist in one man was… baffling. The power to bend the earth to its knees with just a voice. He could bend earth, wind, water, fire and gravity to his will with his magic, but if he exhausted that he was just a man. One could exhaust their voice, but that would probably take far longer than it would take to use up his magic. And that kind of power inside of a powerful warrior's body… that was a fearsome creature to behold. Yet… he was not corrupted. He had perhaps the same power as a mage, but he was kind, caring. Power did not corrupt him, and probably never would.

When snow started to fall from the sky, they had already crossed quite the distance. Gunnar set him on his feet with a grin before motioning for him to follow.

This man… was a beaming example of why the mages should not have to deal with being chained, abused and used as they were. Power in of itself did not corrupt, but someone weak holding that power does always corrupt. This man had a great power within him, but he was strong enough to resist corruption, the temptation to abuse his power.

This man… was a shining example of why mage oppression was wrong.

"Something wrong, lad?" Gunnar asked.

"...No, I am fine" He said.

"You know lad, I've done some of the stupidest shit there is, I've seen stupider. You can tell me, I won't judge" Gunnar smiled warmly.

"...I cannot help but think what a man like you would do to my realm. You might change a few minds about mages" He admitted lowly.

"Well lad, maybe if we can find a way to travel through the realms, I'll go knock some heads in your realm" Gunnar grinned, flexing his impressive biceps as examples.

That brought a smile to his face.

* * *

As they approached the large stone city that Gunnar called Windhelm, the old warrior pointed out the large body of water running under the bridge.

"You fell in a bit further down river" Gunnar said.

"...You hit me with a Thu'um, right? Which one?" He asked.

"Slow Time, slows the passage of time to a crawl. Luckily, I managed to project it onto you instead of myself. You slowed down enough to not smack the water like hitting like belly flopping on a rock" Gunnar said "You did almost drown though…"

"Yes, but you did save me" He said.

"Someway, with my rotten luck" Gunnar laughed before thumping him on the back "Let's head into the city, they've been plagued by dragon attacks...Oh, I should tell you, Hawke. This place… is full of stuck up, stubborn bastards who pass themselves off as Nords. They hate magic users, elves, Imperials, and pretty much anyone that ain't a Nord. So, stick close, maybe I'll only have to knock a few heads around"

"I have dealt with a lot, Gunnar. There is nothing that these people can say that I have not already heard" He said.

"Alright" Gunnar sighed.

Walking across the stone bridge, they large Nord guards eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing when they saw that they saw Gunnar walking next to him.

"So, Gunnar, I have a question… do you not wish to be a Nord? I have noticed that you seem to distance yourself from them" He said.

"...Not sure. I can't change that I'm a Nord, and most of the Nords I meet are pigheaded, racist, egotistical, overbearing bastards. Sometimes, I wish, but wishing can't do much" Gunnar sighed.

The doors were large stone door, guarded by two Nords dressed up in guard garb. They stopped them before Gunnar could reach out to push open the doors.

"State your business"

Breathing in deeply, Gunnar let out a breath through his nose, clearly agitated.

"Here about your dragon problem. Though you might want... I don't know… something done about it" Gunnar snarked.

"What about your friend?"

He was about to fend for himself, saying that he was merely a tag along for the adventure, here to be support for Gunnar.

"New Companion, here to test his mettle" Gunnar said "So you better let him in too, or I let Windhelm burn"

There was a moment of intense silence. Gunnar staring down the two guards, the two guards staring at him through their helms. And it almost seemed like they would forced to leave, but then they pushed open the doors and motioned them to get inside. Gunnar nodded and walked in, he trailed after the old warrior. When the doors slammed shut behind them, he looked to Gunnar.

"Was lying really necessary?"

"Meh, I hate this city. I'd rather lie through my teeth to get this job done faster then have to deal with these bastards for a second longer" Gunnar huffed.

Inside the city, all he could see were worn down, faded stones. Nothing of color was really there, and he was sure that he would either become dull or go insane if had to live in the city. Perhaps that was what drove the Nords to bigoted ways, staring at dull old stones all day. Or perhaps they were like the Templars? They viewed something as unusual, something unknown as dangerous, so they of course, used societal norms to beat down that which was unknown to them?

Gunnar looked around first and then sighed deeply.

"We'll need to go talk to the Jarl...fucking Oblivion" Gunnar sighed "Come on, Hawke"

Walking through the city, he noted a lot of the large Nords walking around. There was not many Elves or the like anywhere. A lot of drunks wandering around, puking and pissing where ever they pleased. Not only that, but as they walked, the stones seemed less dull and more like a means to intimidate. And the more he saw it as that way, the more he saw it as the Gallows. And of course the moment he saw the two as the same, his knees locked and he found himself at a complete standstill.

Gunnar took a few steps ahead and then noticed that he was not following, looking over his shoulder, Gunnar shot him a concerned look.

"Sorry… sorry" He said, cold sweat forming on his temples "This place… reminds me of the Circle"

"Oh...Oh, right. Sorry lad" Gunnar said.

He walked back a bit wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The weight and warmth was comforting slightly, and brought him back away from the installed fear. This was not his realm. Mages were not enslaved by the Templars, they were not corralled like animals in the Circle. And this man would never sell another out for the simple atrocity that was magical talent.

"I'd offer for you to wait in the tavern, but… knowing this city" Gunnar said.

"I am fine, now…" He said.

"Alright, here we go lad" Gunnar grinned.

Together, they walked to the Jarl's palace. Again, they were stopped at the door. And again, Gunnar lied about him. He did not care this time. He just wanted out of this city as soon as possible.

Inside was pleasantly warm, and with a small dash of color. More vibrant blues, and truthfully not much livelier than the stone outside, but at least minutely so. Set up was a long table with hundreds of candles, probably the dining table. And then at the far end of the room was a throne, with a long, blonde haired Nord slouched within talking to a burly Nord in armor to his side.

"That is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, make sure you call him Jarl or Jarl Ulfric" Gunnar explained quietly as they approached the man.

He nodded quietly. Best not to piss off the bigot king, right?

As they approached, the blonde happened to notice their appearance, and waved the other burly Nord off. The burly Nord tried to protest, but the blonde just gave him a dark glare, and the burly Nord stalked off like a scolded child. It was almost amusing… or perhaps his fear was provoking a bitter, dark comical side?

"Gunnar" Jarl Ulfric greeted in a thicker accent then Gunnar's.

"Jarl Ulfric" Gunnar greeted back.

"Thank you for coming, this dragon needs to be dealt with" Jarl Ulfric said.

"Of course, Jarl" Gunnar said flatly.

"It comes at night, which will be upon on soon. Will you stay and kill this creature?"

"As you contracted the Companions to do so, I will"

"My thanks, Harbinger. And who is this? Another addition to your guild?" Jarl Ulfric said, gesturing to him.

"Yes, new lad. Fresh from Cyrodiil and ready to learn" Gunnar said, lying more smoothly than he had ever seen Varric do.

"Hmm… a mage. What school, boy?"

When he got over the fact that the man said 'boy' like it was a clever insult, his mind scrambled to remember the schools that Bruniik told him about.

"Destruction and Alteration" He recited.

"Hmm. Do me a favor boy, don't burn down my city. If the city should be consumed in flames, I would rather the dragon do it"

Something flared inside of him, and he felt something bitter on the back of his tongue. Here this man was saying to watch himself when there was a dragon threatening the city? And that if he were to lose his city, that he would rather lose it to the dragon then carelessness? Not only was he insulted, but he felt like he was back in Kirkwall, being hounded by Templars, guards and Aveline when she was pissed off.

"With all due respect Jarl, if your city was no soaked in the piss of drunkards, then perhaps it wouldn't be so flammable" He snapped.

...'He' snapped? That actually came out loud? He actually back-sassed someone? Not only that, but the man in charge of a city? Marker help him, because he was sure that he was about to be executed for his tongue. Not only that, but he had lost the fight to defend himself years and years ago, why was it coming out now?

He looked to the Jarl and saw that that the blonde Nord was wide eyed staring at him, like he had been slapped. Gunnar looked at him like he had just spontaneously combusted after telling a bad joke. And for a moment, there was a thick silence that he was sure that sure that would follow an bellowed order to kill him.

...And then Gunnar started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell on his arse and clutched his sides. He laughed so hard that tears streamed down from his good eye. And for a moment, he was not so sure about his fate. He became less sure when the blonde Nord started laughing, though not nearly as hard.

"My, your other Companions never has as much spunk as this one. I like him" Jarl Ulfric chuckled.

It took a moment for Gunnar to reign himself in, before he managed to take in several calming deep breaths before getting to his feet again.

"First time I've heard it, sorry, sorry" Gunnar chuckled "Come on, lad, we've got a dragon to prepare for. Jarl Ulfric"

With a nod of his head, Gunnar turned to leave, still giggling. And realizing that he had actually managed to leave a good impression on the bigot king, he gave a deep bow of the waist and turned to run after Gunnar, mind still reeling from how he managed to get out of that one. Perhaps this city was not as bad as Kirkwall...


	11. Not Just a Pretty Face

Night fell shortly on the city of Windhelm, and as the cloak of night shrouded the city, the dragon came.

Gunnar and himself were patrolling outside, guards were on high alert and citizens were advised to stay inside. He saw fluttering of window curtains as he passed, likely citizens watching him, or perhaps watching for the dragon. For a town of big talkers, there sure were a lot of piss poor cowards, but he was keeping that to himself. He got away with being mouthy once, he did not want to test it again.

His patrol took him down through the poor, 'Grey District'. Mostly rotting and broken houses, and probably for the non-Nord races. Reminded him of all the poor refugee Fereldans in Low and Darktown, forced into poverty and the rotting bowels of the city because the majority of the city did not like them, or saw them as a burden. It was a terrible thing to do to these people.

As he passed by a tavern, he noted two dark grey colored elves talking in hushed tones. He knew that the Nords did not care that they got hurt, but he was different.

"It would be safer inside" He told them.

They looked at him and then sneered.

"Mind your own, damned business Nord" One hissed.

"I am not a Nord, and unless you want to be lit up when the dragon sets fire to the piss of the drunkards, I really do suggest getting inside" He said firmly.

Staring at him like he was a freak of nature, the two shuffled inside the tavern without another word. And with them out of the way, he continued his patrol, keeping an eye on the sky.

Shortly are circuiting through the richer distract of the city, a dark shadow swooped down through the sky.

As he ran to catch it as it landed on the tavern, he realized that Gunnar never answered his question. Why did the old warrior need to be the one to kill dragons? Could not everyone do it? Perhaps this was his chance to see it first hand.

As he approached where the darkly scaled beast was resting, he heard Gunnar's might voice rock the air.

"Mul, QAH DIIV"

He was not sure what that did, as he saw no visible change in the dragon, so he assumed whatever the shout was, that it was perchance a personal buff. That did not matter, he needed to execute his part of the plan to take down the dragon. Attack from behind while Gunnar kept the attention on him.

Drawing on his magic, he waved his staff through the air. The thick clouds that dotted the sky gathered together over the dragon. When their mass was sufficient, he projected more magic, and the clouds rumbled with thunder. The dragon finally looked up in time for the clouds to unleash bolts of lightning. They struck the dragon square in back, stunning the creature as it was electrocuted and belted with electricity.

When the tormented ended, the dragon let out a roar that made the rumble of thunder and its wings beat as it lifted itself up.

"Hawke!"

He was already in motion, staff skidding across the ground as he projected his magic into the stones. As his staff made a full circle around his feet, coming up as it neared the direction of the dragon, he flung the stone fist at the dragon, slamming against the creature's back leg, followed quickly by a fireball and a bolt of ice. The creature's wings beat again and it was taking off.

"ARCHERS!"

Arrows flew, aimed at the dragon. The dragon's tail swatted them aside. As the dragon disappeared, probably to make a wide circuit to get back. However, the he heard something rumbled through the air.

"ANOTHER DRAGON!"

"HAWKE!"

He had been standing next to the walls surrounding that Jarl's palace. They shook and he looked up to see a new dragon perched there. He did not have time to throw up a shield or draw the earth up into a set of armor before the creature opened its great maw.

"FUS RO"

And blackness.

* * *

Whispers… thousands of them… pouring from his head… rotten green skies overhead. Shadows swirling along the edges. Thousands of whispers pouring from his head, dripping out onto the ground in oily black droplets. Whispers of power, power to kill, power to conquer, power to rule, power to liberate, power to destroy, power to obliterate the world.

His fingers dipped into the black whispers, brought them to his eyes. Thousands of screaming faces in droplets of black. Thousands of wicked smiles offering dark and beautiful things. Thousands of screams that wanted to tear into him.

Pretty Hawk, pale Hawke, terrible Hawk. Child, older child, scared child in a cell shaped like a man, still that scared child in the man shaped cell. When was he finally going to leave that cage, let it stop him from growing? When he stopped staring at the unlocked, open door and simply made a break for it? When people stopped slamming the door shut in his face? When the door was not slammed shut when he went for it or when he made noise?

The sky was darkening, greens fading to blues, purples and blacks. The black lightened, turning to maroons and crimsons. The whispers became screams, roars and the sounds of battle. Why was there a battle going on? Why did the dry ground seem like cold stones underneath him? His robes seemed… less intricate and to have less material than they should have had.

Dragons… yes… dragons… he was fighting dragons. He was in Skyrim, the strange realm. He had been struck with a force and slammed his head against the ground. That explained the blood, and his momentary unconsciousness. Blinking slowly, feeling hot and fresh blood slowly thickening and cooling on his eyelid and his eyelashes, he slowly got to his arse, and then too his feet.

Sounds still sounded a bit muffled, and the edges of his vision was blurry or blackening out. And his legs wobbled as he bent at the waist to grab his staff off the ground. Looking at the chunk of ice at the end of his staff, he saw that there was blood dripping off the end. He realized that half hair felt like it was weighted with water. It seemed that the blow to his head was worse than he had thought.

He took a few steps and his vision fuzzed over, and he took a moment to shake it away. He stumbled, and just as he was about to fall on his ass, a large hand grabbed one of his arms and hauled him away.

"Hawke, are you okay?"

Eyes trying to focus, he found himself looking at… a glowing dragon man. But that did not seem right on so many levels. Dragons did not glow, nor were they men.

"Holy shit, look at all the blood, come here"

He was gently encouraged to sit down. He felt fingers tracing along the wound in his head, the glowing moved away from him. Something hard was pressed against his lips, something wet hit his lips. His teeth pulled apart with tremendous effort. His jaw hurt from clenching so hard, and he was unsure when he started clenching them. Something bitter on his tongue, washing down his throat. There was warmth along a jagged line along his skull, likely along the wound.

His vision straightened out and it became easier to put his thoughts together. He realized that he had a raging headache, but at least he could think straight again. Looking around, he saw guards running about this way and that. Some wielded bows, other swords and shields. Most were skittering about, waiting for one of the dragons to land.

That was right, the dragons needed to be killed. But he could not think straight enough to perform his usual magic…

There was always the purest form of magic...

Eye locking onto a dragon that was seated on a house roof, he took up his blood stained staff and waved it at the scaly monster. He felt the tug on his veins and felt power swelling within him. Pure magic rushed through him like drugs, and he projected it into the dragon, seeking out the veins within the armored flesh. Finding them, he started corrupting them.

It took several seconds before the creature showed that blood vessels were bursting throughout its body. And when it did, it paused for a moment, looking comically confused, and then vomited blood like a fountain. All on a group of soldiers, that were just as surprised as the creature for the sudden blood loss. But it was far too last to do anything, the dragon kept spewing blood even as it tried to beat its wings to get away. And when the blood flow stemmed slightly, it was too late. The creature rolled off the building, half drained of blood and ripe for having its neck carved out by a few soldiers.

He turned to the last dragon, flying in what it probably thought was the safety of the sky.

"_Come here_" He whispered, already using the power in his veins.

Finding the creature's mind was rather easy, making it submit was another matter entirely. This creature was intelligent and powerful, far more than he had thought. But it was prideful, stubborn, and worst of all, power hungry. To corrupt its mind, to make it bow down to the foreign magic in its veins, was childs play after that. He only needed to repeat the whispers that often were whispered into his own ears by demons. These whispers drove the dragon's mind further and further off the edge.

Until finally the dragon's mind subcome to his will.

_Land_

The dragon spiraled down, taking a dangerous curve downwards. But the creature's mind knew how to work around obstacles, and while under his control, the dragon's muscles knew what to do, and he willed them to work. And with only a minor thud as the creature's mass landed, there were no casualties.

At this point, he had the attention of the guards as he stalked to his victim. He was unsure whether it was his pale hair marred with crimson, the faint red glow to his staff, or perhaps there was something in his eyes that was bothering them. But no one rushed the willing beast as he casually walked to the beast.

The beast's fogged over eyes and prone body did not resist as he reached out and touched the dragon's snout. He felt hot breath on his hand. The breath of a living creature. The breath of a soon to be dead creature.

"_Lift that pretty long, neck of yours, give the warriors a target_"

The creature twitched, fighting his control, but lifted its neck, exposing the thinner scales and soft tissues of its elongated throat. He stepped out of the way, and made a motion of his hand.

A flung greatsword snapped him out of the haze in his mind. Or perhaps it was the spray of dragon blood drenching him. But he suddenly found himself reeling, spitting out dragon blood as he tried to scrub it from his eyes. And as his eyes slammed shut, he felt a rough hand yanking him back and to the side.

He had the impression that he was behind someone, but with the damned blood in his eyes, so he had to focus on what his ears could hear. And what he was hearing was strange. Joyus cheering, the sounds of weapons behind sheathed, and a great wind whipping through the air. Did the dragon manage to live?

"Hawke, you alright?" Gunnar's voice asked.

"I got some of the blood in my eyes" He managed, still scrubbing away at his eyes.

"Come with me" Gunnar chuckled.

He let the rough hand tug him towards something. He was unsure, his head was fuzzy, and without the ability to see, his spatial awareness was skewed. However, he trusted Gunnar to help him. And if the warrior was out to get him, then he was sure that his magic could put the old warrior down.

Gunnar stopped him, and disappeared for a moment. He heard footsteps around him, bodies moving. They had not entered any buildings… where was he?

"Tilt your head back"

Wordlessly obeying, he tipped his head back as far as he could manage without falling over. The blood was starting to thicken on his skin, and his eyelashes stuck together as they tried to open. He hoped that Gunnar had a plan-

Water washed over his face, he quickly snapped his head forward and sputtered, wiping the water from his face.

"Better?" Gunnar laughed.

Blinking and finding his eyes only burning minutely, he turned back to the old warrior, his world still tinted red.

"A bit, my thanks"

"No problem Hawke, especially after you killed the first dragon and helped take down the second. What magic did you use on the second one, by the way?" The old warrior said, handing him a cloth.

"...What magic…?"

"Sorry, that wound to your head must be making it hard to think" Gunnar said "Come on, let's get you over to the priest to see if he can help"

Nodding, he walked with the old warrior, wondering what had happened in the several blank spots of his memory. As they walked, he saw the skeleton of the dragon, and wondered how they managed to strip it so fast. The bones even looked dry and aged.

"Oh, Gunnar, you never did tell me why it has to be you to kill dragons"

"...Shit, I didn't did I?" Gunnar laughed "I'll tell you while you're getting stitched up"


	12. Welcome to the Family

So...I'm going to try and crank out chapters for Bloody Thief and Wolves on alternating days. This means cranking out 2000+ words a day, however, I like the schedule for some reason. If I succeed, yay. If not, I'll update pretty fast. Please bare with me pups

* * *

He ended up getting stitches, along the side of his head. The priest had to hack away a small strip of hair to get at the wound, but it was easily covered up by the rest of his hair. At least the priest was kind in the stitching, using generation amounts of numbing balm along the edges of the wound. He even got silk thread rather than animal intestine.

"Taking this like a champ, lad. You get many stitches?" Gunnar grinned.

"...No" He said quietly.

"Ah… get yourself banged up a lot in battle? I know I can get roughed up if-"

"I would rather not talk about it" He said.

Gunnar eyed him with concern, but then shrugged and just sat there while they waited for the priest to hurry up. And when the last of the white thread was tied in place, and he got a smear of some foul smelling balm he assumed was good for the wound and possible infections, the priest called him done.

"Now, with all head wounds I recommend staving off sleep as long as possible" The priest said as he adjusted his hair to not show the wound.

"No problem, thanks" Gunnar grinned "Come on lad, believe it or not, we still have to kill that other dragon"

Nodding, he carefully got to his feet and then followed the older warrior as he started towards the front of the city.

"After this I want you to take a few days off, okay Hawke? Companions has a bad history of not showing wounds, or not paying attention to wounds, and having them worsen" Gunnar said as they merrily made their way towards the front gates "Just ask Brun about the scar on his back. He'll tell ya"

"I will admit, I have not had a concussion since I was a child" He said, trying to avoid touching the stitching.

"Klutzy thing, were you?"

"...No" He sighed.

Gunnar stared at him for a long time, he had a feeling that Gunnar was slowly putting the pieces together in his head. And he was sure that eventually he would hear about how Gunnar found out that there was someone in his life that actually physically abused him. And then he would have the long discussion of how his brother was a monster in steel armor, and then Gunnar would talk him into staying in Skyrim.

And while the temptation to stay was near overpowering, Kirkwall needed their whipping boy to keep sanity. His brother needed a means to avoid abusing the mages in the Circle. His sister needed him as a means to keep her sanity, cling to hope outside her cage. His friends needed him there, a wall between a happily ignorant life and the war that was sure to come.

He was a wall between chaos and peace, being slammed against by the chaos and shoved back by peace. And without him there, Kirkwall was surely tearing itself apart.

As they tried to leave, they encountered the Jarl as he talked to a few guards. Gunnar tensed up beside him, and then sighed, before approaching.

"How goes the repairs?" Gunnar asked.

"Underway, surprisingly the most damage was done to the Grey Quarter" Jarl Ulfric said.

"If I can make a request on behalf of the Companions, Jarl Ulfric" Gunnar drawled "Don't forget the elves just because you're pro-Nord. Because I'm sure without all the taxes you lay on them, your city would collapse"

The Jarl's nose twitched, but he nodded stiffly.

"Of course. And speaking of pro-Nord-"

"I have told you five times, Jarl Ulfric" Gunnar snapped "I am too fucking old to get involved in wars. I don't care that I'm a Nord, I don't care that I'm Dovahkiin, I don't care if the Empire is trying to wipe out worship of Talos. I will not join your cause, and neither will any of the Companions"

"...And you would let your homeland be ruled by the Imperials?" Ulfric snarled.

"Truth be told, Jarl, I was born in Valenwood while my parents were traveling, and then I was raised in Cyrodiil, and then I was traveling there for a greater part of my life" Gunnar snapped "This is the longest I have been in Skyrim since I went adventuring across the maps. So pardon me if I have no attachment to lands that Nords ripped from the Snow Elves"

Glaring darkly at one another, he was sure that something would have some bloody to break out between them. He saw Gunnar's hand go for the large greatsword on his back, and the Jarl's hand go to the swords on his sides. He felt his own arms stiffen, ready to join Gunnar in battle. After the dragons, he was sure that some beefed up men were nothing.

But then the Jarl sighed, relaxing and dropping his arm.

"I will honor your choice, Harbinger. Even if I do not agree with it"

"Thank you, Jarl Ulfric" Gunnar said, dropping his own arm "We'll take our leave now"

Nodding stiffly, the Jarl motioned for his men to get out of their way and let them pass. Gunnar gently nudged him to go first, and together they walked out of the accursed city.

Finally.

* * *

The second dragon that they were supposed to kill was far easier to deal with. Not only that, but it seemed so confident that it could defeat them, that it crawled along to the ground to fight them. On the ground he pelted the creature with ice, fire, earth and bolts of lightning, while the creature's legs and arms were carved up with broad swipes of Gunnar's sword.

The creature was dead within an hour, blood pooling on the ground. Though the corpse did something odd as Gunnar sheathed his sword.

The flesh of the dead dragon started… flaking away? That was the only way to describe it, the flesh flaking away, moving towards Gunnar. And he watched in sheer awe as the flesh started to burn, something like raw energy hidden underneath and all swept towards Gunnar in a colorful burst of light. And when all the energy was taken in, all that was left was dry, stripped clean bones.

When Gunnar turned back to him, he saw that the old warrior's lone eyes was no longer a deep blue. But a glowing yellow with a slit pupil, like the dragon's eyes. Not only that, but he seemed to be just… radiating power.

"...Was this… eating of the souls thing you spoke of?" He asked.

"Yep, only way to kill a dragon for sure. Gotta eat the soul, otherwise someone can just bring them back" Gunnar grinned.

"I suppose that makes sense. A creature as powerful as dragons would have powerful souls that could linger long enough for someone to resurrect them" He said with a nod.

"Not someone, lad, something" Gunnar laughed "It's another damned dragon that's resurrecting them"

That got his attention. And as they started heading back to Whiterun, Gunnar told him more.

"There's this big, black dragon that's come back. He's bringing the dragons back by using a Shout that can re-flesh dragons with their souls still intact. I haven't really had the time to deal with him, but I'll get the bastard eventually" Gunnar grinned "I'll just keep eating dragon souls until then, cut down the local population until there's nothing left"

"So… you can eat a soul because you yourself have a dragon's soul?" He asked.

"Yep, it's way I've got to be careful when dealing with dragons. If those scaly bastards find out that I do, they'll get their black scaled friend to come get me. Thankfully most everyone is helping kill them, so they hardly know much. Just that the person eating souls is male and a Nord, and you can guess how easy that'll be" Gunnar grinned.

"Clever"

"I like to think so. Speaking of thinking… I was wondering something" Gunnar said with a sly smile.

"... Should I be frightened?"

"Always be afraid when I'm around, pup. You never know the crazy shit I'll get up too. However, this time, you shouldn't, just wanted to run any idea by you" Gunnar chuckled "Since you're going to be around for awhile… how would you like to become part of the Companions?"

"...A part of your warrior's guild?" He asked, giddy for some reason.

"Not warrior's guild, mercenary really with all the rogues and mages we've got now. But yeah, a part of the guild, a true member" Gunnar said, suddenly serious.

"...Would you accept me? I am a mage"

"So? Rayvahn uses magic, and Brun is in charge of a college of mages" Gunnar grinned.

"..."

"What's wrong?"

"...Nothing, just having problems accepting that I am not being shunned for magic" He muttered.

"Hawke, you're an amazing mage, and not only that, you seem like you could use a good family to watch out for you" Gunnar smiled "Besides, you get to hang out with Farkas one more time if you decide yes"

"The last time I did that, he ratted me out" He pointed out.

"Because of the same reasons I yelled at you pup" Gunnar sighed "He really is a good guy"

Why was he trying to dissuade the warrior? Here he was, trying to get the old warrior to take back the offer to join a guild and a family, because he was a mage. Was he… just so used to the abuse and shunning of being a mage that, without it, he was doing it himself? Was he really… hurting himself in place of all the others that used to? Was he really… doing that to himself?

"Actually… I'm not giving you a choice" Gunnar suddenly grinned deviously "You're joining the Companions, no 'ifs' 'ands' or 'buts'"

"...Thank you, Gunnar" He smiled.

"No problem, pup"

* * *

Gunnar kicked open the door to Jorrvaskr, grinning like a cat that got the cream. The startled Companions that were there looked at him and simultaneously groaned. It seemed that they knew their Harbinger well enough that such a devious expression meant no good would come of what the old warrior had in mind.

"Hey kids, I've got great news" He grinned.

He distinctly heard something about hiding the mead and anything else flammable.

"We've got ourselves a new Companion prospect" Gunnar grinned, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and yanking him in close "This guy, right here"

A visible sign of relief washed over the Companions.

"Alright, just need Farkas to show up from that… what was he doing again?"

"Getting rid of the Orc raiding party in the Pale" Rayvahn said "Now come here, Hawke"

He eyed her.

"I can see the stitching through your hair, and I can almost guarantee that that drunkard priest in Windhelm did something wrong" She said firmly.

"Go, Hawke. She's an excellent healer" Gunnar grinned "I'll get something set up for your proving"

Nodding, he walked over to the small woman.

She made him sit down with his back to the table so that she could sit on that and just be slightly above his head. Her dainty legs carefully wedged themselves between his arms and chest and planted themselves on the arms of his chair. Carefully sweeping the hair back, a few strands that had dried in the balm tugged along the wound, and he hissed in discomfort.

Giving him a moment to let the pain pass, she went to gently turning his head this way and that, looking the stitching up and down. He felt the barest brush of her fingers along the silk threads, the smallest pinpoints of pain as she tugged loose strands of hair out of the dried balm.

"Mmm, perhaps I was wrong. Quite a surprise. Still, I have a potion that will help with the healing and even help with the scarring. Wouldn't want a such an ugly scar on such a pretty head" She hummed to herself.

He could not help but feel like she was trying to rile him up. Was she really looking for a fight?

"Ray" Her blonde friend warned.

"Sorry, sorry, I can't help that his prettiness makes me jealous" She sighed with a sly smile "Speaking of which, Hawke, you should be ashamed"

"I am sorry?" He asked.

"This hair? Why grow it out as long as you have only to let it get tangled and knotted together like this? I say, if men are going to have long hair, at least brush it for gods' sake" She said, tugging on his hair "You know what? You've already wreaked it, no, I'll handle this"

He was about to question what she meant when she none too kindly undid the braid he had been dealing with. Cringing as his broken scalp was tugged on, the leather bands he had been using were dumped into his lap and then a section of hair tugged back.

For a moment, he thought that she was going to start hacking hair off, and was fully prepared to damage the legs she had left within hands reach. But then he felt a soft tug through his hair, and then another, and another. And then he realized that this stranger, this strange, angry little woman, was brushing his hair.

He had only grown out his hair because Bethany did not have a sister to braid hair with, and his mother grew tired of it after she had reached a certain age. He let her braid his hair because it helped her deal with the stress of being mage. When his sister had been sent to the Circle, he had thought to cut it. But he had, had it for so long, and he had entertained the idea of getting his sister free from the Circle and knew that she would be saddened by the loss.

He could not help but remember the better days as his sister used his hair to twist into beautiful creations and intricate braids. And simply let the angry little woman continue.

Was it wrong that he felt so cozy?


	13. A New Home

When his hair flowed uninterrupted to the small of his back again, and when it was again soft to the touch, Rayvahn deemed him acceptable for the moment. But threatened to tie him down and not be so gentle if it got out of hand again. He agreed, simply because he did believe that the strange woman would tie him down just to yank all the knots out of his hair.

By that time, most everyone was back in Jorrvaskr. Almost all. Bruniik was absent, as well as the big bald Nord and little Anton. He assumed that Bruniik was out there trying to find a way home for him. And as he did not know Anton enough, did not make an assumption about the little elf. Perhaps just another adventure?

Though, between Gunnar trying to find a way for him to prove his honor, and the fact that he could not bring himself to socialize with the other Companions… it gave him time to think.

How many days had it been? Four or five? Almost a week and he still did not miss home. That one time after that nightmare, he missed them. But only for the few times that they actually saved him from his brother, or the Templars. There were no Templars in this realm. His brother was not in this realm. There was no Circle, there was no Harrowing, there was no Tranquility, there was no social pressure to hate himself for being a mage.

There were safe places for him to learn, there were nice people here for him to befriend. Hell, even a guild wanted him to join them. It was not that way in his realm. In his realm, the Qunari thought him strong and wanted him only to sew his lips shut and collar him. The Circle thought him powerful, but wanted to lock him up with whispers of Tranquility. The Templars wanted him to fight their war to further put down the mages, a trophy head at the head of their steel warriors.

And his friendships seemed… shallow and shaky at best. Isabela made him face the Qunari leader to save her own hide. Varric only wanted to be friends at first to get the expedition funded. Merrill was forced onto him, and they were always bickering about blood magic. Anders friendship seemed genuine, the bastard however seemed more focused on the mage oppression then him of late.

And Fenris… what could he say about Fenris other than he did not know. Fenris declared that he loved him, but then turned right around and hissed about the evils of magic. And honestly… he had no idea why Fenris stayed. If he hated mages so much, it was obvious that the love was false. And with his master dead and his reason for running gone, the elf was free to go… because honestly… he was getting sick of defending Fenris. What little happiness he got from the relationship, what little pleasure he got… was not worth the hurt.

There was a thud next to him, said thud came from Farkas as he stared wide eyed at the person that had shoved him. Said person was Gunnar, because the old warrior took a seat on his otherside. The old man was grinning exceptionally deviously.

"Alright, ready to talk quests Hawke?"

"...Sure" He said.

"Alright, so I needed something relatively hard for you to do, and something that you could mostly do on your own. So I figured you could help Rayvahn with a little side thing she's doing" Gunnar grinned "She's been hunting around Skyrim for these powerful undead mages called Dragon Priests. She wants that masks they carry for something. So you're going to hunt down one of the masks for her, kill the priest and bring back the mask. Sound good?"

"I have not gotten the chance to fight a powerful magic user. I will take on this challenge" He said.

"Perfect. When you get the okay from Rayvahn to adventure again, that'll be your proving" Gunnar smiled, thumping his back "And you'll drag along Farkas, mostly so he can come back and tell me that you did it. If you don't bring him back… well, let's just say it would be better not to come back yourself"

"I will not lose him"

"Good! Hate to lose my brother-in-law. Anyway, I've got stuff, to do, so chat up pups" And then the old warrior was gone, leaving his chair rocking from sheer momentum.

Blinking, he turned to Farkas, who was carefully righting himself in the chair, turning it and himself to face the table. When that was done, he sipped from a bottle of mead that he had managed not to spill when Gunnar pushed him. And they sat there… in awkward silence...for perhaps a solid hour while the others had the times of their lives around them.

Rayvahn pounced on Od and sat on his shoulders, boldly declaring herself the tallest in the room. Od yelled and roared for her to get off, brandishing claws to make his threat more powerful. The girl rubbed the Khajiit's head and stroked his ears in response. Everyone laughed as the big cat's thunder like purr rattled the doors.

While Argis tried to pull the girl off when Ghorbash went for his sword, Farkas nudged him with his elbow.

"Sorry about before"

"No problem, you were concerned when I gave you full right to be" He said, watching Rayvahn mushed her husband around like a horse while Ghorbash chased them around, swords drawn.

"...You probably know about Vilkas then"

"Yeah"

Argis tossed Rayvahn up high enough for her to grab one of the high beams before ducking out the backdoor. The spunky little girl was hurling insults as she clung to the high beam, promising painful death to the Orc if he harmed one hair on her husband's head.

"Sorry, it just…"

"Hits home?"

"Yeah"

There was a burst of magic and suddenly there was a black and red skinned man standing underneath the girl. She barked out an order to hold out his arms, which the creature obeyed, and she fell into them before jumping down and rushing out the backdoor. The creature followed, unsheathing a long and deadly black sword.

"I do not mind, Farkas"

"...Still, I'm sorry"

There was the clash of steel outside, and Od-Kaaz ran out to join his husband. There was a moment's silence and then Od, Ghorbash and Argis came running inside, the door not even having a chance to shut before an arm of solid ice shoved itself inside and waved frantically. They drew their weapons as the creature on the other side seemed content to torment them.

"You are forgiven"

"Thanks"

The arm pulled back and Rayvahn strolled back in, fuming. She got right in the three warriors' faces and started chewing them out for being such complete idiots and taking a joke too far. He wondered why she was so miffed, but then saw the missing hairs on the tips of Od's ears and saw the shallow cut along Argis' face.

"So, I heard you willed a dragon to land. Is that another one of your spells?"

"...Of a sorts"

The dark haired girl stormed over to her bag and then back to the three large warriors. She grabbed a fistful of Argis' blonde hair and yanked him down until she could dab something from a small red bottle along his cheek.

"It is called Blood Magic. By using the lifeforce of either myself or the living around me, I can control minds or control the life around me. It… is dark and forbidden magic. I should not have used it"

"Still, controlling a dragon enough to force it to land is impressive"

Realizing that the little woman's wrath was directed elsewhere, the big cat and the big green man deftly moved away, taking seats far away from her.

"I could have killed myself"

"There's always that risk"

When the little woman considered his scratched tended for, the blonde warrior surprised her with a kiss to the nose. Shockingly, the girl turned pink and then shoved him, grumbling whilst still blushing.

"I do not think I will use that magic again"

"Whatever suits you best"

Gunnar, who had been silently chuckling at the whole affair, burst out laughing, falling out of his chair as he struggled to breath. And realizing that they had just played fools for him, the four looked down in shame and found something else to do.

"You're a good man, Hawke. You should trust yourself more"

"Thank you, Farkas. You're a good man too"

The big warrior gave him a warm smile… and for some reason, he found it far more appealing then he should have.

He shook it off. It was nothing. It had to be.

* * *

Three days later, Rayvahn carefully cut the stitching out of the wound. After looking it over, she deemed the wound non-fatal enough for him to start adventuring again. And just in time too, as she found the location of one of the masks that she desired.

"You'll be finding a mask on a priest called Volsung. You'll find him in the ruins of Volskygge, don't worry, I'm giving Farkas directions. You will need to pass through quite an extensive set of ruins to get to him, lot of enemies, lots of traps and a lot of ancient puzzles to solve" Rayvahn said as she dabbed some balm along the mostly healed wound "I recommend taking a few of my potions with you, just in case it becomes too much"

Finished with that, she gently blew along the still drying balm. When the balm dried, she moved his hair back into place, combing her fingers through it to fix every strand.

"Now, as I recommend with every magic user, use electricity based spells on them to first drain them of their magic-"

"I beg your pardon?"

"...No, you would need to use certain lyrium based objects, certain poisons or certain spells" He said "Electricity just hurts like hell"

"...Well, that's how it works. Anyway, just be careful. I do want this mask, but I don't want your head rolling around on the floor because of it" She said "So don't act like a Nord and seek glory"

"I thought Nords were just racist drunkards, now you are telling me that they are suicidal as well?" He said.

"...I like you, Hawke" Rayvahn said with the slightest smirk "So don't die"

"I will try my hardest" He said.

In a borrowed pack, along with dry rations, Rayvahn tossed in several red bottles and a few blue bottles of something. She also tucked in a small scribble of the mask, as well as the traps to look out for.

And with that done, he headed out the door with Farkas.

Farkas told them as they walked out of the city, that it would take almost three days to get there and required a lot of walking. They would need to walk towards Solitude and then head west towards the ruins. There was the possibility of taking a carriage to at least the city of Solitude, however, Farkas wanted to see his magic some more, and asked to walk.

"We'll also get the chance to kill bandits and such as we walk, help some of the merchants and such" Farkas said as they walked "Help kill some work"

"I would think that you would like more work" He said.

"Some work is great, but I honestly like it better when everyone is home"

"Like having the family home?"

"Yeah. Have a moment like that, Hawke?"

He thought for a moment. He thought about the years that his father was alive, before the years of running had turned his mother bitter, before the years of abuse had completely broken him. The evenings where his father would entertain the family with wild stories to make them laugh, how they would eat home cooking from his mother, how Bethany would braid a messy tie into his hair and his mother would quietly adjust it to be less painful. He thought about how his father would talk without end about the powerful mages he and Bethany would be when they grew up and the powerful warrior that Carver. He thought about the sweet cakes his mother would make out of the scraps of flour, sugar, and other things.

He thought about the days where he would smile and it felt more like a rare event.

"...not for quite some time" He admitted.

"...You'll have a few if you stay. More than a few" Farkas said softly.

He felt a painful pinch in his chest. Why did he want to go back? To that place of pain and torment? Where his lover hurt him emotionally without a second thought? Where his friends did not give him two shits if he did not agree with them? Where a whole city's sanity rested on his shoulders when he was no hero?

His eyes burned.

"...Hawke?"

"I don't… I can't...I do not think I want to go home, Farkas" He said, his voice cracking.

"..."

Walking along silently, he struggled to not cry like a frustrated child for several moments until Farkas reached over and hooked an arm around his shoulders. Pulling him in close, he eyed the warrior.

"We'll get you home" He said.

For an awful moment, he felt betrayed.

"To Jorrvaskr"

And that was all he could take. He started crying like a child, but he would be damned to Tranquility before he said they were not tears of complete and utter joy.


	14. Hunt For Volsung pt1

The ruins seemed comprised of aged and broken stone structures that seemed like they would have belonged better on a stone city from the ancient's past. And after picking off a few bandits and taking the gold and valuables on them, they finally found the entrance pushing open the stone door, they were greeted with a simply lit room and a knocked over incense bowl.

"Looks like the place" Farkas noted.

Taking his staff in hand, he progressed further into the dungeon, pushing open another room. It was larger, and looked like it once was of at least of some importance as it held a throne and some rather intricate stone totems of what looked like eagles. There were also a few lively fires going.

"People have been here" He noted as they progressed.

Nodding, Farkas pulled out his sword. And low and behold, as they entered a hallway, they encountered a few bandits that were trying to get past a swinging door trap. With a swing of Farkas' sword and a well placed stone fist, the bandits were dealt with. That just left the trap. And after scanning the ground, he found the switch that activated it. Carefully walking around it, they progressed further.

Another bandit attacked, and Farkas ended up and cutting him down. The bandit seemed to had been guarding a treasure chest. However, it was locked. And lacking any ability, Farkas ended up giving it a try. After several moments of failed tries, Farkas took his sword and slammed it down on the lock, breaking it. Kicking it open, Farkas pulled out a handful of gold coins and a gold necklace. Adding it to the pack, they started forward again.

Down a hallway, there were two more bandits. A big Nord and a bigger Orc, each carrying greatswords. He froze their feet to the ground and Farkas beheaded both of them. Taking a bloodied amethyst off of one, and a handful of coins from the other, they carefully step over the corpses and went down yet another hallway until they hit a large room that looked like it had been a great dining hall when the ruins were not ruins.

"Amazing. It would have been interesting to see these ruins when they were not" He said.

"You can ask Brun when we get back home, he's old enough… I think" Farkas said.

Home… that rung with great power in him. A warm and safe place to go to, not just a house of empty rooms to return too. A place were there were people living there like a family, not like servants. Bodhan and his boy were nice company, but it was hard to get close to a stranger like that without thinking that he would just be using the kind Dwarf as a means to fill a hole. And Orana was a sweet girl, but her training as a slave made her skittish to her masters. There was no means to actually become friends with her.

Was it wrong of him for leaving it all behind? For not feeling a shred of guilt?

A bandit came out from a small side hallway. He blasted them with a fireball and then a blast of ice. When another came out, he skewered them with a spike of ice. Leaving that bandit skewered, he and Farkas raided the room, finding some more gold and a few potions that likely belonged to the bandits. After it had all had been added to it the pack, they moved onto to another hallway, this one with a dead bandit already there.

Looking around, he spotted the trap. A mechanism that would thrust a tree log forward at crushing speeds. Sweeping his staff along the ground to gently pulling away from dead vines and dust, he found the switch to it and pointed it out to Farkas. Stepping over it, they moved along.

He wondered exactly how large and deep the dungeon was. He was sure it would not compare to walking for all that time in the Deep Roads. But still, in the Deep Roads, there was only Darkspawn to kill, as well as the grotesquely large creatures that crawled around there. These were living humans that seemed to have blundered into a mess.

They came upon a strange room with four large coffins, four switches, four large stone pictures. Apparently a large and complex puzzle system. And looking around, they found an aged book that held the answer in a riddle.

"All four are bound to the same land as we. Some lay low, consumed in shadow, Others stand tall, stretching their necks to see. While none live in the sacred borrow, They all demand your attention if you are to proceed" He said as he read, Farkas looking around "The first fears all, the second fears none. The third eats what it can, Preferably number one. The fourth fears the second, But only when alone. All must be activated in order, if you wish to go home"

He looked at the available stone pictures. A wolf, a bear, a fox and a snake.

"The fourth is a wolf, as a wolf against is a bear is no match, but a pack is something" He said to himself "As for the creatures that eat one another, foxes have been known to eat snakes and have been known for the more lenient diets. That would meant that the first is the snake, the second is the bear, the third is the fox and the fourth is the wolf"

"Are you sure?" Farkas asked.

"Only one way to find out" He said, slipping the book into the pack.

Walking over to the switch for the snake, he pulled it up, giving it a jerky turn and then pushed it down again. When nothing happened, he moved back to the bear switch and did the same thing. Again, nothing happened again, so he moved to the switch of the fox. The switch stuck from sheer rust, but thankfully Farkas was there to give him some muscle. Again, nothing happened. That meant that they were right, and activating the last switch.

With a heavy clatter, an old iron gate pulled up, opening to another room. Large, and with a spiral staircase inside the floor that would lead downwards more. There was nothing of value in the room, except more lit candles.

Following the stairs down, keeping hands on the walls when the old and dry wooden steps creaked underneath their weight, which lead down to a short hallway that lead to a heavy iron set of doors.

"You're awfully calm for being in a dungeon" Farkas noted.

"I will have to tell you about the time I spent in the Deep Roads" He said as Farkas pushed open the doors.

"Deep Roads?"

"Tunnels that run deep into the ground, usually ruins of great cities once owned by Dwarves. They are crawling with dark and dangerous creatures called Darkspawn. I spent a quite some time down there hunting for treasure"

Pushing forward, they came into a room that seemed mostly untouched from the bandits. Mostly old linens wrappings and vases. Some dusty relics of whatever life had lived in the ruins. Tracing an imaginary pattern across the dust on an aged bronze plate, he wondered how old the ruins were exactly. Wondered how many lives had lived in the underground city before being killed or forced to leave.

"Come on" Farkas said quietly.

Advancing to the next room yielded a surprise. A dried up husk of a man actually walking around, wielding a sword in one hand and a spell in the other. The creature's eyes glowed with an unworldly light. And he was so engrossed with the creature that an small ice spike was propelled past his face before he realized that the creature was trying to kill him.

Pulling out his staff, shot a fireball at the creature, consuming it in flames. As the creature flailed, it waved its hand and in a burst of purple colored magic, it summoned a bulky creature made out of ice. Farkas tried to cleave through it with his sword, but the ice proved incredibly dense, as it just bounced off the surface. And for a moment, the warrior just looked up at the creature as it drew back one of its arms.

His staff was already in motion, weaving straight magic into a Spirit Bolt and shooting it at the ice creature. The creature reeled hard, and he threw another, sending the creature reeling backwards. And then he came in close and shot a bolt of lightning at the creature square center in the chest. And as electricity sliced right through the creature, cracks formed along the surface.

Pulling Farkas back, he had time to throw up a shield before the creature imploded into a thousand deadly ice shards, spraying everything in sight. Thankfully, the explosion was not too powerful, or else it would have ripped through his shield. And with the last ice shard, he let the barrier fall and looked to where the undead creature was. Nothing more then dry ashes on the scorched ground it fell.

"Impressive" Farkas grunted.

"Thanks" He said, putting his staff away.

Poking around the room that the undead creature had come from, they found another treasure chest. This one with gold and a pair of golden-ish colored boots that were surprisingly light weight. They went into the pile with the rest of the growing loot. Along with two rather fetching crystals that were on a table, as well as a dried up hunk of flesh that Farkas called a 'Skeever tail'.

In the next room, there were a few jars and a hole in the ground with a grate over it. Stepping on it showed that it would hold their weight. Moving to the next room, carefully avoiding another trap in the small section between, yielded another grated hole. This one dropped open when the tip of his boot brushed it. And looking down they saw a set of broken stairs and a couple of broken bodies.

Looking around the room, Farkas found a switch that opened up a secret room. There was a potion posed over a trap, which honestly was not worth it. However, the chest to the side was, and since he was the most agile, he carefully crawled over some rubble to raid it. Inside was another purple crystal, a ruby, a bar of this silky white metal and then a handful of gold. Crawling back they went back into the first room.

While the hole with the broken stairs seemed like it would cut through a lot of walking, he was sure that he would break his legs trying to get down and politely declined the offer to just jump on Farkas' back and let the warrior jump. So they followed a hallway that lead into a crypt like area with holes in the walls with dried up bodies and brittle bones.

There were a few more undead, though none nearly as strong as they had fought earlier. And they easily made their way further and further in. Farkas got to bust open another chest and pull out some coins, and he found some gems in a jar. When he added it to the pack, he was actually surprised to see that they had a very promising satchel of things to sell. He did make note to ask Bruniik or Gunnar to explain the monetary system to him. If he was going to stay, then he needed to know, right?

"What are these things, Farkas?" He finally asked as they finished off another batch.

"Draugr. Undead Nords" Farkas said "They're usually a problem when exploring these old dungeons"

Undead, so he was right. They almost reminded him of the Darkspawn, almost. Crawling around the dark and untouched places of the world, carrying treasures untold, and often found in hordes.

Coming to another fairly large room, they saw two different ways to go, and looking in one they saw another spell wielding Draugr. He went in first, blasting the creature with fire, and Farkas came in after him, carving into the creature with his sword. Luckily, after a few swings from Farkas while the creature burned, and it was done.

Poking around the room that it had been in, they found a few potions and went on their way.

The ruins opened out into some natural looking tunnels with some spiders. Surprisingly, Farkas was exceptionally hesitant to take them on, so he killed a greater majority to them as they carved their way through the tunnels. They were easily taken out, which made him wonder what exactly was Farkas' problem. However, he did not press and just pressed forward until the tunnels turned back into ruins once again.

There really was nothing of note as they moved on for a bit. There was a lovely room that had a river cut through it.

And then there was a much larger room that lead up to a large room with a much more powerful enemy then the others. A Draugr with a rather large horned helm. Of course he immediately set fire to the creature, however it hardly phased it. Not only that, but it opened its mouth and shouted

"Fus, ROH!"

Farkas was sent flying across the room, leaving him alone with the creature. He immediately drew upon the earth to form armor around himself, and then started flinging spells as fast as he could, carefully stepping down the stairs as he tried to get to where Farkas had landed. He had hoped to get back to the warrior, heal him if necessary, and help take down the creature.

Stone, ice, fire, spirit energy, electricity smacked into the creature in quick succession. When the creature drew too close, he increased the gravity underneath its feet, bringing its speed down to nothing. When he finally reached Farkas, trying to pull himself from a pile of rubble, the creature was at least visibly weakened.

"Need a hand?" He asked the warrior, flinging another stone fist.

"Just need a second" Farkas grunted, pulling his foot free.

"I do not have much magicka left" He warned.

Nodding, Farkas shook himself off, and then rushed the creature swinging. His sword bit into the creature's rotten armor with ease. When the creature swung back, Farkas lifted his sword and shielded himself only to swing back when he got the chance. Back and forth, back and forth, until Farkas' sword found the creature's neck and beheaded it.

"You alright?" The warrior grunted.

"Yes… just need a moment" He said, wiping away sweat from his brow.

"Here too, let's take a break" Farkas said, motioning for a slightly less dirty spot by the wall.

Walking over, they plopped down and simply took a breather.


	15. Story Written in Ink and Blood

On the ground, they listened to their stressed breathing for a few moments. His was much lighter the the animalistic breathing that was Farkas'. They listened to the river rush over long since smoothed over stones, they listened to the near silent breezes that whipped through on occasion.

Looking over, he saw that beads of sweat were washing away the dark war paint around the warrior's eyes. Black streaks marred the warrior's cheeks as his mouth hung open with his laboured breathing. The streams of black caught on his beard, almost disappearing into the dark strands.

He realized, that looking closely, he did look a lot like Vilkas. Perhaps the result of being twins. He wondered if their personalities were as different as Bethany and Carver's. Vilkas seemed be to have a much bleaker outlook then Farkas, but he had been relatively kind to him. Farkas was as Gunnar described him, blunt but kind. So perhaps not too far off from one another. He wondered what then, had caused his younger siblings to be so different.

He turned his head, adjusting his gaze.

After a few moments, Farkas had gained enough of his breath that he was ready to go again, claiming that they would likely have a few moments before something showed up. Agreeing, he got up and leant a hand to the warrior to get him on his feet. When the warrior stood, he stretched for a moment, and then looked him in the eyes.

He was not sure what the warrior was looking, only that he was just now noticing that the warrior has some rather lightly colored eyes. And that those lightly colored eyes were slightly unsettling.

"Ready to go?" He asked.

"...Yeah" Farkas nodded before they moved on.

The way further was past the throne that the creature had been sitting on and then out another heavy steel door that lead to the outside. The shock of winter air was oddly refreshing compared to the dusty and musty air of the dungeon. He took a moment to breathe it all all in, get it to saturate the inside of his lungs before moving on.

Stepping up what was a final pair of stairs, the approached a large stone coffin and a large wall with a strange language carved into the curved surface.

"What is that?" He breathed, stepping closer to the wall.

"Huh… looks like one of those Word Walls Gunnar talks about. They hold the knowledge of long lost Shouts. We gotta make note for him so he can run over and get it"

"This wall holds the knowledge to Shout?"

"No, it holds the power of one particular Shout" Farkas said "I can't read… dragon, like Gunnar, so I couldn't say"

Running his fingertips along the aged stone, he was surprised that the edges of the chiseled words still had a bit of an edge to it. Almost enough to cut his thin skin. He took his hand away, afraid that he would easily lose to temptation again if he spilled blood again.

Moving away, he saw the lid of the coffin bounce off the coffin, unleashing a puff of green/yellow dust that must have been rotted skin and flesh from being trapped so long. He went for his staff as Volsung rose to the air, brandishing ice in both palms. The mask that Rayvahn had described was covering his rotted face.

He started with a fireball. he had hoped that the creature was as weak to fire as the other undead creatures. And he was right, the creature's brittle flesh and rotting robes easily caught fire and the creature let out a harrowing cry as fire started eating away at its dried flesh. And with the creature focused on that, Farkas went in and slashed at it a few times before jumping back.

Staff skidded across the ground, he threw a stone fist at the creature, quickly followed by a blast of Spirit energy. The creature reeled before flinging its spell. What he thought would be a burst of ice turned into an ice spike that zipped right through the air and grazed his side. The ice spike tore through his robes and exposed his skin to the cold air.

He instinctively brought earth up to form armor and then retaliated with a another fireball.

This was going to be a long fight…

* * *

"Uh...Fenris… you might want to come look at this" Anders said.

Flaring his nostrils, he stalked over to the Abomination as he poured over the strange book. Looking over the man's shoulders, he saw that the mage had opened the book to a new page in the book. It showed picture of a portal opening up in a snowy sky.

"What?" he snapped.

Anders turned to look at him, frowning with worry, and then turned back to the book and flipped the page. And in the same and intricate, heavily detailed style as the other pictures in the book, was a picture of…!

"Hawke!" He gasped.

In intricate detail was a picture of Hawke, falling head first through the air, long strands of blonde hair sticking to his horror stricken features.

"There's more" Anders said, flipping the page.

Across the next two pages was Hawke still falling, the second picture showing that he was falling towards water.

"No, Hawke!"

"Wait, there's more… a lot more" Anders said.

Turning the page revealed a picture of two large warriors. One was older, mid forties to early fifties, with a large scar across one side of his face and a sword across his back, the other much younger, mid twenties to early thirties with heavier armor, small sword and a shield. The second picture of the the same two warriors but the older one turning to look at something.

Turning the page, it showed that the warrior was looking at the falling figure of Hawke, the next him opening his mouth.

His fingers were biting into the edge of the table and the back of the Abomination's chair. This book was the only clue as to where Hawke was, and if it was teasing them, showing Hawke's fate… he loved his mage, he really did. But Hawke has the luck of a bastard. The probability that Hawke was going to fall to his death-

He wanted to be sick.

Turning the page page, showed that something was coming from the man's open mouth… like a great blast of air. And the next page was the blast heading for Hawke!

Shoving the mage aside he grabbed the book and frantically through the pages, the anticipation of what was to come killing him.

The story sped up. The blast hit Hawke, but instead of being harmed, he seemed unharmed. The next few pages showed the warrior the warrior running towards Hawke, abandoning his sword along the ground. And… was the man running fast, or was Hawke falling more slowly than he thought?

Hawke hit the water, and the next few pages were of him sinking like a stone, bubbles coming out of his mouth. And as he sunk further, the pictures grew darker and darker. And then there was a picture of the warrior plunging into the water, swimming downward. The pictures grew darker as the warrior swam towards Hawke.

The next few pages were of complete darkness.

He felt his stomach clench and found it hard to breath. Hawke… his mage… what had happened to his mage?!

He slipped through the black pages until he saw slivers of growing white, like someone opening their eyes. More and more and more until the image revealed the warrior kneeling over Hawke mouth latched onto his. He wanted to feel jealous, but he knew that at the moment in the story, Hawke was unconscious, and that it was not a kiss. It was the old warrior pushing air into Hawke's lungs. Still…

Hawke sputtered and got up, appearing disoriented and confused as he coughed up water and such. The pictures held no words, but it seemed like the warrior and Hawke were talking based on the pictures and the way that the mouths were moving. The old warrior smiled at Hawke, the other frowning slightly. Hawke struggled to get to his feet, falling to his knees. The old warrior smiled down on Hawke, and then heaved up into the old warrior's arms.

The old warrior carried Hawke for awhile, apparently talking up a storm. He saw the looks that appeared across Hawke's face. Mostly fear and worry. At one point he saw Hawke's eyes snap completely wide open, features etched in fear. The old warrior said something, and Hawke appeared to relax.

Flipping further, he skimmed through the story, seeing the warrior cart Hawke to a tavern like place, getting him dried off again. More talking, Hawke seemed oddly relaxed. More talking and then a journey towards another city. They stopped often for Hawke, whose clothing did not seem able to stand to the harsh weather. Finally they arrived at a city and went to a large building that looked like it.

Inside the building, the old warrior barked at…

"What in the name of the Maker?"

Hauling himself off the ground, Anders looked at the picture as well.

"Well… that's… odd"

A giant cat man, a large man with tusks and a heavy brow, large warriors or metal and muscle. Not only that, but there were three odd creatures that struck him as particularly peculiar. Three creatures with pointed ears and sharp features that belonged only to elves… however one was short and with tanned skin with tattoos. One was tall and thin. And another was of average height with dark skin. So… different types of elves besides City and Dalish?

It showed Hawke and the old warrior talking to the tall and thin elf, the old warrior smacking the elf once before the story moved to Hawke sleeping, the story seeping into darkness again as his mage slept. He hurriedly flipped through the pages until the images returned, showing Hawke getting up and about, talking to the tall and thin elf for a good long time.

"What is this?" Anders whispered.

He kept flipping, watching Hawke get dressed in new robes, and then milling about for the rest of the day. The next day he went with a warrior, traveling quite some distance before coming upon a dragon that seemed a bit more impressive than the creature then the High Dragon they had faced near the mine. Afterwards, Hawke had what looked like a heated discussion with the old warrior.

"It looks like Hawke's adventures… wherever he is" He said, flipping ahead as it appeared that Hawke was safe for the moment.

Flipping ahead, he almost missed several red stained pages. Moving back, he saw that several pages were obscured deeply with some dried red substance. He could only make out small bits of what was happening. Bits of what he assumed to be dragons, parts of Hawke, but mostly the dried red. After a few pages, the red stains lessened until he could see Hawke again. He appeared to be getting stitches alongside his head.

"That doesn't look good" Anders noted.

"You think" He snapped, shoving the mage again.

He quickly flipped through the pages again, skipping through Hawke fighting another dragon without trouble. Going cabk, waiting a few days while Hawke milled about and then Hawke going with the same warrior from before. They took a long time to get through a long dungeon before coming out on the peak of a mountain where they faced a strange masked undead creature.

During the fight, Hawke was blasted with ice and fell to the ground. The warrior with him started taking up the task of dealing out damage while Hawke laid on the ground… ice formed across most of his being.

"What is he doing? Why isn't he helping Hawke?" He growled.

"Kind of hard when a mage is throwing ice everywhere" Anders scowled, dusting himself off.

Hawke managed to get to his feet and tried to lift his staff, but he could see the strain in his mage's arms as he fought against the ice.

"Hawke… don't push yourself…" He found himself whispering.

Hawke still pushed himself, lifting his arms until he got his staff into place and casting fire magic-

On himself?!

"HAWKE!" He yelped, jumping out of his chair with enough force to knock it over.

THe flames disappeared, revealing Hawke totally fine, though most of his robes scorched and his skin smeared in ash. He wove his hands around, and the creature was peppered in fireballs from above. While it was staggering from that, Hawke shot a blast of Spirit energy followed by another fireball. And then finished the creature off with his favorite spell, the Stone Fist.

The creature fell into a crumpled pile, thought that did not stop Hawke from moving, rushing over to the warrior, checking on him and then

Turning the page yielded something both revealing and slightly disturbing. There were lines being formed, like the picture was drawing itself. However, that had to mean that that this adventure was going on?

He had a way to keep an eye on his mage… that was all that mattered. And he was going to get him back.

* * *

"You alright, Farkas?" He asked as the warrior fought to catch his breath.

"Y-yeah" Farkas panted.

Nodding, he walked over to the creature's corpse and pulled the mask off the creature's face. Looking it over-

He turned on his heel, looking around.

"What?" Farkas asked.

"...Nothing, nothing" He said.


	16. One Step Closer Home

"Perfect, exactly what I was looking for, Hawke" Rayvahn smiled as he handed over the mask.

"I hope you do not mind, but Farkas use it to carry the skull of the dragon we killed on the way back" He said as the warrior hauled the skull outside.

"No problem. I hope that it did not give you too much trouble" Rayvahn said.

"Nothing more than a few bruises, cuts and burns" He said.

Looking up at him, she cocked her head in an inquisitive fashion. And he felt the the girl's eyes tracing the hood of his robes that he had pulled him, eyeing the state that the robes were in, the smudges of ash still on his cheeks. She looked at the light burns on the backs of his hands, the black scorch marks on his knees. Her red painted lips parted in a shocked 'O' as she seemed to realize what had happened.

"No"

"I was frozen solid. Farkas needed my help" He admitted.

Reaching a slender hand forward, she grabbed the edge of his hood and forced it back. His hair spilled out, showing the patches of hair that had been scorched off, the places that white/blonde had been marred with black.

"..."

He was not sure what exactly the girl was upset about. After all, it was only hair. Hair that he had grown out for someone else. But the way that the girl eyes the dark patches, the damage that he had done to save Farkas, almost like she was eyeing the wounds on a friend. Though he was not sure how damaged hair could equal a wound in anyone's eyes.

And then the girl glared viciously, eyes lit up with anger.

"I told you what would have happened if you ruined your hair again" She growled.

"...Dear, sweet Maker, preserve me!" He yelled as he turned and ran for it.

He had experience running from the Templars, both on foot and politically. Now, Templars had not been too much of a problem in recent years, with both them and the mages trying to recruit him to fight their war. But he still remembered how to use his environment to his advantage, people, objects, plantlife, several times he used his magic to cause traps.

So he was a formidable creature to try and catch. And even if he was still new to Jorrvaskr, he managed to cleanly jump over tables, grabbing pillars and using them to make sharp turns, jumping over railings and taking sharp turns around people to put them between himself and the girl wildly tailing him.

At one point he leapt outside only to collide with a rather large back, smacking his nose against some incredibly hard material. He fell on his arse, holding his sore nose.

The creature that he collided with turned around, revealing itself to have been the giant cat man, Od-Kaaz. Said giant cat man looked him up and down questioningly. And then Rayvahn came crashing out the doors, tripping over him and smacking her face on Od-Kaaz's chestplate. She landed on his lap hard, holding her nose as well.

"Impressive Od, you just took out two of my Companions without lifting a finger" Gunnar laughed.

Looking up, he saw Gunnar standing just behind Od, grinning with warm humor.

"Heard that you got the mask back, congratulations Hawke, you're an official Companion" Gunnar grinned.

"Gunnar… I think I broke my nose" Rayvahn grunted.

"Mine's bleeding" He said.

"What do you want me to do about it? You're an expert potion maker Ray, and you're a mage Hawke" Gunnar chuckled.

Grumbling, Rayvahn stumbled back into Jorrvaskr, and he casted a healing spell on himself, correcting the damage done to his nose. Sadly he could not do the same to his hair.

"So" Gunnar said, as Od extended a hand for him to grab "You looked like you had fun"

He saw that the insides of Od's hands were covered with the same rough surfaced, plump pads that cats had on their paws. They felt rough on his hands as he took that steady hand to lift himself up, but not nearly as squishy as a cat's.

"A bit of trouble with an ice spell. You can… guess how I corrected it" He said.

"Too bad Brun's not here, he'd be a lot more help with getting you new robes then I would be" Gunnar grinned.

"I am more worried about my hair… or, I guess more worried about why Rayvahn is so obsessed with it" He said.

"Something to do with her mother…Od think" Od rumbled "Rayvahn's mother was sold into a brothel many years ago. She was a child that grew up in that brothel, helping with the sewing, cooking, cleaning, and making the… workers… pretty, working on their hair and face paint"

"...I see… a habit that she keeps" He said, before frowning "Then why does she not bother over anyone else"

"No one here is pretty enough to be a paid whore" Gunnar laughed "You seen the ugly fuckers around here?"

"That… is very hurtful, Harbinger" Od pouted.

"Yeah, well, hate to break your heart Od" Gunnar grinned "But you MIGHT be a touch on the ugly side"

Pouting deeper, Od left to go back inside Jorrvaskr, letting Rayvahn aside as she came out, brandishing a pair of scissors more deadlier than any warrior had brandished steel, any rouge had brandished daggers to any mage had brandished a staff. He took a few steps to get away, only to have Gunnar grab his arms and hold him still.

He looked up at Gunnar, horrified.

The old warrior just smiled.

* * *

He just… why?

He stared at the picture of Hawke with short hair, of the smug dark haired girl and the laughing old warrior. He saw pictures of Hawke touching the shortened ends of his jaw length hair, looking distressed.

...Why?

"Ah… Hawke looks good with that haircut"

Nearly jumping out of his skin, he turned to the pirate queen looking over his shoulder. She was smiling coyly as she looked at the picture.

"What makes you say that?"

"Makes him seem more like a man and less like a romance character in an erotic novel" She smiled "And he looks younger, too cute"

"He looked better with longer hair" He grumbled.

"Well" Isabela said, flipping back until Hawke was fighting the strange masked creature "Probably should have let the warrior die then. Besides, Hawke has been wanting to cut his hair for years"

"...What? He never mentioned that to me" He snapped.

"Because he was keeping it for you and Bethany. He knew how much you loved it, and he knew how much his sister loved it. But he couldn't stand having such long hair" Isabela said, flipping the story ahead to show that the newest page was nearly done. A picture of the old warrior laughing as Hawke rubbed the back of his neck.

"And why would he tell you this, but not me?" He snapped briskly.

He always did like to think that he knew his mage best. He knew the little signs, the double meaning behind his words, his fears, joys, loves, hatreds and other such things. He liked to think that his mage told him everything… so why did he tell the pirate queen of all people?

"...Dear, are you really that blind?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"He didn't tell you, but honestly? You're quite the ass to Hawke" She said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And what makes you say that?" He snapped.

"If you can't see it, then you really are an ass" She snickered none too kindly.

She looked at the newest picture and cooed in delight, like when she saw something sexually appealing, before quickly stepping out of the room with a particularly sexy swing in her hips. Glancing back at her, he glared down at the picture and snarled.

One of the warriors, one with shoulder length hair and dark war paint around his eyes, was touching Hawke's short hair. There was a small flush to Hawke's cheeks as the warrior spoke. No, Hawke was not seriously attracted to the hulking barbarian? He had better get away from that bastard!

The next picture was of Hawke sniffing his own collar, trying to avoid eye contact. The warrior's hand was still touching Hawke's hair, cupping the back of his neck.

He wanted to tear that bastard apart. No one, NO ONE, touched his mage like that. And what was Hawke doing? His mage should have brushed that hand off, not let it stay like that. That piece of shit, just a few days apart and he was already looking for someone to shack up with. That no good mage!

You really are an ass

...Was he really?

No… no… he was just… pissed off and lonely without his mage. He was venting, that was all. He wanted his mage back, to keep him safe and away from strangers. He wanted his mage back, and he was sure that even acting as he was, his mage wanted to be with him too.

* * *

"Farkas" Gunnar managed between breathless laughs "G-get away from the boy, you horny mutt"

Face turning bright red, he tried to wiggle further into the shirt of his robes as Farkas leaned in further to smell him. He did not think that a simple comment about his smell would turn into such an uncomfortable invasion of his personal space. Much less by Farkas of all people.

"Farkas" Gunnar wheezed.

Farkas leaned in further and he felt hot breath on his ear.

"Farkas, if you do not step awayIwillsetyourarseonefire" He squeaked out.

Gunnar was laughing too hard at this point to manage anything. He was bent over at the waist, laughing his ass off. And he felt puffs of hot air on his earlobe and Farkas was not backing up, dear Marker what in the name of Andraste was he doing?

He went for his staff and was going to make good on his word when suddenly Farkas was yanked backwards and away from him. He let out a breath that he did not realize that he was holding in and looking towards his savior, which was a mirror image of his aggressor.

"Farkas" Vilkas snapped.

Farkas looked up at his twin, almost innocently.

He backed away, frantically airing his face, letting Vilkas chew his brother out and Gunnar laughing his ass off still. What in the name of the Marker was wrong with these people? There was a girl that gleefully chopped off hair, a giant cat man, a horny bastard, a man that had perhaps a slightly disturbing father and age kink, an old man that acted almost thirty years younger than his age, a drunk mage and… he did not know if there was anything glaring wrong with Anton, but he sure that there was.

...And yet, he could not help but feel comfy. The Companions really were just a huge cluster of just the oddest warriors, stitched together to make the largest dysfunctional family that he had ever seen. Sure, there were the oddballs, the slightly crazy ones, the shifty ones, the ones that held it all together and the ones that no matter what why you looked at, just was the strangest creatures you ever set your eyes on… but they were still holding it together.

Years running had turned his mother bitter. Years running had killed his father. Years running had turned his brother resentful against him, turned him vicious and mean. Years running had broken him to the point that he had no idea what was holding him together other than sheer will. And what had all those years gotten him?

A dead father, a dead mother, a caged sister, an abusive brother, an abusive lover, friends that he doubted their loyalty. A war that he never wanted any part of, choices that he never wanted to make, problems that weighed like two tons on his shoulders. He did not want any of it, yet he had been forced to carry it like a beast of burden.

"Hey Hawke"

He turned around and saw Vilkas standing with his arms crossed across his chest, glaring at his brother, who was rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry about getting too close to you" Farkas said.

Yet… this huge dysfunctional family would take him on, despite being forced to think of himself as a beast of burden. So willing to open up to him, so willing to take him in, so willing to make him just another piece of the family. Even if they were all oddballs… it made him miss the evenings that his father would tell stories to make them laugh.

"It is alright Farkas, though I will admit, I do not know what you found so appealing in the smell of burnt hair and ash" He smiled.

Farkas opened his mouth to speak, but Vilkas smacked him good.

"What was that for?" He asked.

"We'll tell you one day" Vilkas sighed as his brother rubbed the back of his head before turning to his still laughing husband "Gunnar, you're going to choke yourself with laughter one day"

"And I'll laugh in my grave for it" Gunnar managed between fits of laughter.

...No, it was not wrong of him wanting to stay. Between the cold house, the cold family and the colder lover and this warm place of sanctuary, it was not. Between abuse and burden, and warmth and love. This was not the wrong choice, this was not the bad choice. This was him finally thinking about himself for once in his life.

And he did not feel a lick of regret for it.


	17. Temptation of the Wolf

There is a light m/m scene in this chapter. If you are not a fan of slash, please skip the last break, you won't be missing much.

* * *

Coughing, sputtering, and hacking, Gunnar thumped his back as he coughed back up his first ever swallow of something stronger the light wine. Of course, Gunnar was laughing the whole time, but then again he had reassured the old warrior that he could take it despite the warrior's warnings that he could not.

"I told you" Gunnar laughed.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he glared at the old warrior through teary and burning eyes. The old warrior just smiled innocently before taking up a bottle of wine from the table and handing it over.

"Now, try this first, and then you move to light ale. Baby steps, Hawke, baby steps" Gunnar chuckled.

He only took minute sips of the wine, ignoring the old warrior. After a few sips calmed his sore throat, he noted the gentle warmness in his belly that foretold of drunkenness. He made note not to drink too much, as he knew that he was a mean drunk from that one day that he drunk himself into a tizzy back in Kirkwall and woke up to find his room trashed and claw marks on his own wrists.

"So, if you are willing to ignore my complete and utter lack of tolerance for alcohol, will you tell me at least why Farkas decided to get up close and personal to get a whiff of my face" He said, ignoring the growing ruckus of those around them as they got progressively drunker and drunker.

"Huh? Oh… hehe, hate to break it to you, Hawke, but you're his type" Gunnar chuckled "Blonde, lilith, smart and pretty as all Oblivion"

"Then why does he not look for that in a woman?" He sighed.

"Because, honestly? I think you've piqued his interest" Gunnar grinned lecherously "He's always been curious about mages and such, and you sir, are a glaring enigma with the center being mysterious magic. And if he was sniffing you, you probably smell good"

"I still smell like ash and burnt hair, that does not smell pleasant, Gunnar" He retorted.

"Farkas has a good nose, probably could smell past it" Gunnar grinned, tapping the side of his nose.

"Really? I cannot even smell the honey in the mead past my stench" He said.

"...That's a longer story that I'm not sure you'll take well" Gunnar chuckled nervously.

"I have seen talking dragons, giant talking cat men, I have seen more than two types of elves, I have seen giant green men with tusks, I am sure that that Njada girl has drunk more mead than humanly possible, and I have seen undead creatures cast magic. Nothing you can say will will harm me, make me cringe, or make me doubt the sanity of this realm anymore than I already have" He said firmly.

"Alrighty then! Werewolves" Gunnar grinned.

"...I thought… nevermind, that was in my realm" He sighed "But, yes, I can fully understand werewolves"

"...Well, that was easy. Anyway, swear on whatever gods you must, but do not tell the other whelps" Gunnar said.

"I swear on the Maker and Andraste" He said.

"Perfect!... A few of our members are cursed with a beast form and boiling beast blood. In exchange for a restful night sleep, and any sort of honorable afterlife, they have enhanced senses, strength, a powerful beast form and a promising afterlife as a hunting dog for a twisted being that's obsessed with hunting"

"That… sounds like a… rough deal, one that you do not agree with"

"I don't know where you're from Hawke, but a good warrior gets to go to Sovngarde, a place for the warrior to mingle with other great warriors. To be turned into a hunting dog… that's a damned insult" Gunnar said gruffly, taking a long drink from his mug.

"So, Farkas is cursed? I am also guess by your attitude that Vilkas is as well" He said.

"...Yeah, but we're working on it. Vilkas is just… nervous about losing all the benefits, and it's a huge step for him" Gunnar said.

"I understand" He said.

He noted that the wine bottle was empty and sighed. He was going to end up drunk.

"Now, don't you dare treat those two differently… or Aela, or Rayvahn" Gunnar said.

"I would not think about it, Gunnar" He said.

Gunnar grinned at him.

"...Wait a moment, I thought Farkas had someone he was pining over already" He noted.

"He only spreads those rumors because he doesn't want to be the odd one out with no significant other" Gunnar sighed.

"Ah"

* * *

When things got a little too rowdy for him, he ventured outside.

A pleasant buzz was already in the back of his head, so he had stopped drinking despite Gunnar's best efforts. Like he said, he was a mean and violent drunk and did not need the Companions to see that. And the fresh air would help him think straight.

Outside he took a seat at one of the tables, haphazardly kicking his legs up and leaning them against the edge of the table. The moon was out, almost full, and there was a dusting of stars against the dark sky. The air carried the heavy smell of coolness and a slight moisture that was probably due to the warmness of the afternoon and the coolness of the night colliding on the ground.

Slumping in his chair, like an improper gentleman, he idly thought about Farkas.

Back in Kirkwall, he had been used to people being smitten with him, people being drawn in by his looks, the forbiddenness of an apostate, the lure of being Champion. He was used to getting sultry looks, borderline perverted touches, the thousands of love letters and the people that harassed him in person.

He was almost surprised that he had only managed to attract the attention of one person. Then again, in a land as gritty as Skyrim was, it was plausible that the people found beauty in the strong and worn features that he saw on the warriors. To have something as pretty as he was, was probably alien. And… he was grateful for that. He honestly did not like that he came out so pretty, it made too many people judge him by a single glance alone.

Then again, it made him wonder what the warrior found so appealing about him. He was pretty like a woman, a bloody mage, he was self destructive and self hating, he was stuck inside a tightly compact innershell because he was afraid of the outside of the world and what could hurt him because he was so sick of being hurt by the outside world. Not only that, but he was addicted to the buzz of power he got from blood magic, magic that turned reality into a nightmare and men into true monsters.

What in the world did that warrior find appealing about him?

And he stank of burnt hair and ash. Maker, he needed a bath bad. Perhaps he needed to say something to Gunnar, because he was not sure how long he could stand stinking as bad as he did. New robes hardly helped either.

Sighing loudly, he felt miserable and alon-

"So, this is where you ran off to"

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Farkas with the door swinging shut behind him. The warrior was carrying a bottle of something.

"Sorry, the only place I have ever been where there has been more the four people drunk was at my local tavern, The Hung Man" He said as Farkas joined him at the table.

Farkas nodded, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes looked more yellow in the night air then before. Perhaps it was a werewolf thing?

"And I myself am a mean drunk, I would rather the others not see that" He admitted.

"Not everyone can be merry drunkards" Farkas said, voice slightly gruff.

He looked at the warriors and noted that he was staring at his long legs stretched out. Eyes running the length up and down.

"...Farkas?" He asked.

Tearing his eyes away, Farkas looked at him. His eyes were almost glowing a bright yellow.

…He needed to get away.

"Right, I should head inside, get some sleep" He said, getting up and walking towards the doors back inside.

As he was walking, he felt something like an heavy aura behind him. Almost like there was a wolf to his back. And while he now knew Farkas was a werewolf, it could not have been him, could it have?

"Hawke"

Turning around, he saw that Farkas had stood. And his eyes were more definitely glowing a bright yellow, light wolf's eyes under direct moonlight… if moonlight were hitting Farkas' eyes. But they were not.

Swallowing thickly, he turned fully to confront the warrior. He was not going to have to fight him was he? He was not sure if he could, considering how violent the backlash was. However, if the warrior was planning something nasty, then he needed to defend himself, right?

"Farkas?" He asked.

Farkas took a step forward, and he mirrored with a step backwards. Despite the fact that the air around him was rather… like a wolf's, he was not as fearful as he probably should have been. Probably because Farkas was not coming off as such. More of… dominating. It was almost like Fenris' naturally came off. Though Fenris' reasons were for more scaring off the weak willed and bullying him around. Farkas seemed… a little out of it?

The warrior took another step forward and he stepped back. Step after step, Farkas unthinkingly ushered him backwards until his back hit a wooden beam. And yet he still was not fearful. Perhaps because he had already dealt with one man pushing him around, to try and top him would be a feat that one had to actually work at.

Farkas closed the gap between them, lifting a large hand to press against his chest lightly. Not in a pinning matter, more of… shy touch way. When he pushed out with his chest against that hand, it pulled away, and when he settled again, that hand gently rested on his chest again. He felt his heart thump against it.

The first thing that Farkas did was lean in close, nose brushing the side of his neck, as he took a deep breath in. He felt the slight chill as he took that breath in, though it was quickly replaced as the simple heat that seemed to roll off the large warrior fell over him. Farkas was exceptionally warm, and he was not even excited or had been moving about. It was pleasant…

Farkas moved, nose pressing against the hollow of his throat. So close he could smell the scents coming of Farkas' slightly long hair, mostly the heavy smell of honey and mint from the mead he had been drinking, but also a tinge of sweat, leather, metal and something like he would expect a domesticated wolf to smell like. Faintly wild.

When Farkas lifted his head, he saw that the warrior's eyes were a warm yellow. Not as bright as a moment ago, but still rather lively.

Farkas leaned back. He got what he wanted. The warrior was going to respect his space now. He was going to take that warmth with him.

And he was rather miffed about that. Get that close, let skin touch, and he was just leaving it like that? Nothing more? Nothing less? That was just… why did he expect more? Why did he expect the warrior to do anything? Why did he hope that others would do as he hope, just to set himself to be disappointed.

No… dammit… he was going to take what he wanted for once!

Hand quickly coming up, he wove his fingers into Farkas' hair and forced him forward. Farkas grunted in surprise as their lips pressed together. And for a moment, it was nothing more then his lips against the heat of Farkas', the barest contact of flesh because he cannot muster the courage to do more. Because even then he was thinking of Fenris.

And then Farkas pressed forward until his head touched the wooden beam.

And then it was a kiss. Farkas' rough lips restlessly moved along his, devouring him, but still being… tender and gentle. He found himself kissing back, head going blank as he focused on the warmth and touches. Because he could not remember a time that Fenris kissed him so… lovingly.

A pair of hands came up to his shoulders, actually holding him in place because Farkas was just that aggressive, or rather, that dominating.

It was dominance, but also not... he was unsure. He just knew that the kisses before this one had always had a hard edge to them, a tinge of bitterness despite the best efforts to drown it in sweetness. He had never been kissed like someone was both trying to be tender, dominant and loving all at the same time.

His arms hesitantly came up to wrap around the warrior's neck, keeping him there. The hands on his shoulders slide down, scoring his sides with the heat of those rough hands until they reached his waist. Strong fingers held his waist firmly, but not completely still, like he wanted to keep him there, but would let him go if he wanted.

Something warm and wet traced his lower lip. Shuddering, he parted his lips and let Farkas press his tongue forward into his mouth, tasting nothing but the sweetness of the honey and mint from the mead. And... strangely enough Farkas was also gentle there to. There was no cliche, battle of dominance. But rather, it was just Farkas tasting his mouth, his saliva, feeling the slight edges where he once bit on the inside of his cheeks in worry, along the edges of his tongue. It was... tender... explorative. And... he had never been kissed so sweetly before.

As Farkas' tongue proved larger and thicker, probably from being both larger and a werewolf, he could not do some exploring of his own. Though the gentle scrape of teeth he felt when Farkas' tongue curled upwards to taste the roof of his mouth, told him that Farkas' lower canines were sharp and deadly. Was Farkas' wolf side in charge? Or simply coming out with excitement?

He hoped the latter in favor of the first.

His body was saturated in Farkas' heat and he did not want to leave it. However, Farkas pulled away, licking his lips. His eyes were a much more muted yellow, thought still very warm. When the warrior pulled away, he felt the sting of the loss of heat.

"Uhh" Farkas hummed, now suddenly at a loss of what to do "Night"

Scratching the back of his neck embarrassed like, the warrior walked back into Jorrvaskr, leaving him reeling.

As much as he wanted to say that that kiss was nothing, he would be as bluntly lying as he would be if he did not say that the tent in his trousers was not an erection.


	18. Scratching the Surface

When he awoke in the morning, he was not sure he ever wanted to get out of bed, and not because it was at all comfortable. No, because he was unsure if he could face Farkas after last night. Not after becoming so aroused from a single kiss. And certainly not when there was still Fenris.

As much as he wanted to stay, as overpowering as it was, if Fenris came for him then he knew he would go. No matter that Kirkwall was a vile cess pool of hatred and abuse, no matter that his brother was a Templar, no matter if his sister looked forward to the say that he would break her out of that prison, but if Fenris came for him, he would be compelled to go.

As much as he was doubting it, he was sure that Fenris loved him, even through the staggering haze of doubt and freedom. And to do that... with another... with Fenris undoubtedly looking for him... he wanted to say that it was unforgivable. But if it was unforgivable, then why did he not feel guilty of it? Even as he remained buried underneath his furs, why could he not help but recall the small details of the kiss? The warmth, the tenderness, the way that Farkas smelled so close, the way that his waist was held so gently...

He did not want to get out of bed.

However, his attempts to remain as such were foiled when Gunnar came thumping down the stairs to get the still sleeping whelps. And as he was an official Companion, that included him as well. So when Gunnar went thumping back up the stairs, he was draped over one shoulder while a completely hung over blonde on the other.

"Alright! Get yourselves some breakfast, get ready for the day! We've got jobs!" Gunnar said as he was dropped in a chair and the other blonde dropped into another.

Eyes flashing around the room, he saw that Farkas was speaking with Vilkas on the other side of the room. He tried to make himself as small as possible as he took an offered apple from a sleepy Rayvahn.

"Alrighty Companions, today's a big day! Lot of big jobs, so if you want to take on, pair off with another. I don't want another incident like with Bruniik" Gunnar called as he got out his book "However, I know you lot have been harping for harder jobs. Here they are"

Several of the jobs were killing dragons, either in ones or twos. Those were immediately picked up by the older members of the Companions. Some of the whelps paired up to grab a few of the dragons, and he was surprised when Athis paired up with the hungover blonde, it seemed like the drunk would be too useless to fight a dragon.

And then they found out that there were tougher jobs yet. As it turned out, Gunnar had agreed to help out a faction called the Dawnguard. The Dawnguard had sent over missions to clear out vampire dens, with the main focus being to kill the Master Vampires and then to kill the half dozen or more vampires the monster had made.

The ones that were left, Od, Vilkas, Farkas, seemed nervous about taking the job, until Gunnar reassured that they would be reporting back to him and he would send letters once the jobs were done.

"Now.. hmm, that's an odd group" Gunnar mused "So, either I need to jump in or Vilkas, Farkas and Hawke need to be a team"

"I'll travel with you, old man" Vilkas said.

"Alright! Farkas, Hawke, you're a team"

Swallowing thickly, he looked over at Farkas, who nodded to Gunnar.

This was going to get awkward fast.

* * *

He could not force words to come out as Farkas and himself took off. Not after the first mile, not after the second, not even after the third. The warrior made it easy, seemingly content with the stiff silence. And after the sixth mile, he wondered if either were going to say anything.

He supposed that Farkas was content to call the kiss nothing, that nothing happened and nothing ever would. It was a momentary lapse in control for both of them. And as much as a small part of him wished that the kiss has meant something, he was largely more for calling it nothing.

Because what if they called it something? Supposed it was the start to a relationship. They could start one, it was obvious that the warrior was interested in him, and he could forget everything and open up to the warrior. Then what would happen if Fenris showed up? He would be furious, he would be called everything underneath the sun and be left to live in the realm with no hope to get back home. He would have Farkas, but he would also be heartbroken, as well as breaking the heart of Fenris.

And then what if Fenris never found a way to him? Part of his heart would always yearn for the elf, and the warrior would never have all of his heart, leading to three broken hearts. Because surely Fenris would become as such if he could never get to him, despite his long life.

And what if the warrior only wanted sex? Then he would just end up in a similar if not worse relationship then the one he had with Fenris. And what then? Farkas would get what he wanted, but his heart would turn to a lump in his chest and Fenris, either way if he came or not, would be both angry and heartbroken.

No matter what way he looked at it... it was not going to end up well.

"Hawke?" Farkas asked, shattering the silence with surprising force.

"...Yes, Farkas?" He mumbled.

"Why did you grow out your hair so long?" He asked.

Well, that was not what he expected from the warrior, but certainly more welcome than saying something about the kiss.

"My sister. Growing up, she did not have the chance to make many friends, let alone other friends with other girls, so she did not have a lot of chances to do all those things that young girls enjoy. One of the things she lamented not being able to do often, was braid hair, as my mother grew tired of it and her mage children. So I started growing my hair out until it was long enough for her to braid" He said "When she was sent to the Circle, I could not bear to cut it. Luckily, Fenris seemed fond of my long hair, so I kept it for him"

"Ah... do you miss it?"

"Really? No. Long hair is bothersome when fighting, it gets in your face and requires a lot of upkeep. Not only that, but the longer it grew out, it seemed the more feminine I appeared. I was starting to get confused with being a woman more frequently back in Kirkwall"

"Hmm... you look, really good with short hair"

Looking over, he saw that Farkas was looking at the road and... was that a slight coloring to his cheeks... that was strangely cute...No. No. He could not think that...

"Thank you, Farkas" He said, looking down at the road too.

They walked in silence again for another hour or so, until Farkas approached the silence again.

"Hawke?"

"Yes, Farkas?"

"Do you have other family besides Bethany and Carver?"

"Not anymore, besides a drunken ass for an uncle. My father died almost twelve years ago, illness. My mother... died about a year ago... at the hands of a blood mage"

"I'm sorry"

"No need, but thank you"

There was a short pause.

"Me and Vilkas never met our parents. Supposedly killed when Necromancers kidnapped the lot of us and sacrificed them. We were saved by the Companions, they're our family now"

"...Oh. I am sorry to hear that, and glad that you found such welcoming people to take you in"

"Thanks"

Another pause.

"Am I bothering you?" Farkas asked.

"No, no" He said "Though I do wonder why you want to know about me"

"..."

He looked over and saw that Farkas was looking at the ground, cheeks definitely pinker than usual.

"I'm curious...you're interesting"

"..." He parted his lips to say something, and then realized that there was nothing to say. He knew the double meaning behind the warrior's words, he knew what the kiss meant now.

Farkas had a crush on him, and it seemed that his wolf was sexually attracted to him. And he... did not know what to think. He tried to think that people who were drawn to him, were drawn for shallow reasons and thus thought nothing of it. He knew that Anders coveted him, but with Justice slowly taking control, he had no idea if it was a sick need to keep mages together like brothers in arms, or actual attraction anymore. There was Fenris... but he was beginning to doubt everything about the elf. To have someone genuinely attracted to him, what he was, who he was, and not for title or looks...

"...Why?" He asked, bitter self loathing coloring his voice "Why me?"

Farkas looked at him, genuinely confused.

"I am a mage, an abomination on the world. I could not save my father, a weak child. I almost lost my siblings to an ogre, a weak mage. I let myself get pushed around, weak willed. I love a creature that hates what I am, self loathing. I give nothing to myself but all those around me, not self caring. I am forced to carry the sanity of an entire city because I am to believe that mages are nothing more the the servants of man, and I, nothing more the a burden. I could not even save my mother, when I was fully capable of doing such... why me?"

He did not know how to react to such innocent attractions, such innocent attentions. He did not know how to react to a society that did not brand mages monsters, he did not know how to react to such warm and welcoming people. He did not know how to react to love and acceptance. He was alone. He did not have anyone to lean on. He had nothing, less than nothing.

"Because. I don't care"

Eyeing the warrior, he demanded an explanation with look alone.

"I couldn't save my parents. I cursed myself because I wanted to be stronger. I continue to live with a curse because I don't want to lose that strength. I lie about a love because I don't want to be the odd one out of the rest. Does this make me a bad man?" Farkas said seriously.

He looked at the warrior.

"No, because I don't let these things define me" Farkas said "And just because those things happened, you shouldn't let them define you. There's more to a man or woman besides their mistakes, their flaws and weaknesses"

...Was there more to him besides that?

"When I see you Hawke, I don't see a mage. I see a man who comes from a bad place, but is still smart, still caring. Maybe... maybe I want to see more of the good side of you"

He stood there, numb.

After so many years of stewing in the mistakes, the flaws, the weaknesses, the terribleness. Was it that easy to see something else? Was it easy to see that, yes he was a mage, but that was not a bad thing. It was something that he could say 'No, this does not defy me and I won't ever let it'? Was there more to him other than the flaws that people screamed at him? Was there more to William Hawke then that?

"Hawke?"

Was there anything...?

A warm hand found his. Rough, calloused fingertips brushed against skin he had not realized had gone cold. Strong fingers wrapped around his slender, delicate ones. A hand that held a sword held his staff wielding hand. And not to pull him away for sex, not to pull him away from his family and towards a prison, not to kill him. A hand was just holding his, trying to keep him there.

"...What if there's nothing?" He muttered.

"Then we'll find something" Farkas shrugged.

The warrior tugged on his arm, pulling him forward a few steps. Farkas was trying to get him moving again, get his mind off it. It was not healthy to dwell on such things, afterall. And Farkas knew that, and was trying to get his mind off them. The warrior was worried about his mental health, and was perhaps the only once since his sister was sent away.

His feet started moving, and he started walking with the warrior, relishing the warmth of the hand still holding his.


	19. Just Won't Fade

For those that care to where I've been...

I got this thing called a 'job' and had not realized that the hours would be so long and draining. Even a short 8 hour shift just makes me want to go home and catch some sleep. So I apologize for dropping off the radar like that. I will try and update at least one chapter a week on my day off if errands don't take too long.

* * *

He found out, amusingly so, that vampires were exceptionally susceptible to fire. He summoned a hail of fire on a group of them and watched as they scurried about like rats, using healing spells and rolling on the ground to put themselves out. Of course, when he saw this, he kept using fire spells, sadistically watching them scream and wail in pain as they tried to put themselves out.

Farkas commended him on figuring it out, with how little he knew of these vampires creatures. He smiled to himself as they raided all the gems, good armor, small weapons, enchanted armor and gold from the vampire den. There was quite a lot, as the bag for the loot was soon bulging dangerously. Farkas said that they would need to sell some of it off, though he did not know if the closest Hold had a pawn shop or the like. He knew of a potions shop that they could sell the poisons and such at, but they would probably need to lug it to the next closest Hold to sell all of it off.

And... he was surprised. He had never had so much fun just doing another errand. Running them for the city because it needed its Champion always seemed like work, like he was forced to do it. But, doing errands for the Companions were... well, they were enjoyable. Perhaps it was because no one was forcing him to do it, this was something of his own choice which of course was a novelty in of itself. Or perhaps... it was just the company of Farkas?

As they looked in every nook and cranny for loot, they chatted. He did not want to open up at first, but Farkas just has this... masterful way with words that made him want to talk. And when he started, he just could not stop. Not that Farkas seemed to mind, he seemed to enjoy listening in fact. Not that listening to him complain should have been pleasant.

Listening to him complain about his siblings when they were younger, how Carver pushed him around but then turned right around and cried when he fought back. How Bethany seemed so focused on being a mage, she let herself get treated like one. How his mother was so eager to pass work off onto the next person, not willing to hold anything of weight in any sense. His father was a lovely man, witty to his death bed, but sometimes the man could rant, dear Maker!

When he had run out of things to complain about in his siblings, Farkas managed to say the right thing to get him to go off on his friends as well. Firstly, was Merrill. The girl ruins her life thrice and still clung to the things that ruined her life. He ventured saying that if the Grey Warden knew what had become of his clan, then the infamously bitter elf would put the girl into her place. And then Anders. The man had good intentions at heart, but he was being far too radical in his means to get those intentions to go through. The only really bad thing he had to say about Isabela was that she had run off that one time, and in order to save her, he had to fight an experienced warrior of whom he had come to respect as a leader. Varric was a fine friend indeed, but the damned stories he wove made the expectations on him insanely high and stressed him to no end.

When Farkas tried to get him to spill about Fenris, he sighed loudly through his nose.

"I suppose you are trying to see how well your competition is faring?" He asked.

Farkas, of course, fumbled around an answer. It at least said something about the warrior, that he was not comfortable with lying and he was blunter than first thought.

"Fenris... hates mages with a passion and refuses to see anything else besides his closed views. He thinks that all mages will turn into his master, and… that hurts... to be thought of as so low as that slimy bastard. When I tried to help him, killing magisters that were tied to his past and such, he remarked that magic taints whatever it touches... to my face... right after I had helped him" He sighed "He did not apologize for it either. Not only that, but after we finally killed his old master, he remarked that he had no one. I am sure that it was to pressure me into responding, which I of course, fell for"

He realized that Farkas was looking at him expectantly. He sighed again.

"The further I step back from him, the more I see the flaws, the hang ups, the crippling fears and hates. The more...I doubt him and his every word. I am not even sure I love him anymore, let alone like him as a friend"

Looking over, he saw hopes in Farkas' eyes... and did not know whether to scowl or smirk coyly.

He still could not get over the fact that someone loved him for all of him. No one loved him for all of him, except his sister and his father. Anders wanted him more for his mage side then anything else, Fenris only seemed interested in getting some twisted form of payback in the form of physical use and emotional abuse, Isabela only wanted his body because she liked pretty boys sometimes, Merrill stopped caring after he foolishly started showing interest in Fenris, and Varric of course, was not interested in that way since he was not a fan of humans.

"You said that there was a Hold nearby, let us go see if we can get any coin for this" He said, motioning to the bag on the dirt floor.

"Right" Farkas said, appearing a little too eager.

He could not help but think of him much like a puppy as he scooped up the bag and strapped it onto his back. Bright eyed and eager to please to get attention. At least Farkas seemed genuine in his intent for only attention and not to get into his pants. Though... that was something to think about. He had not thought about it, but Farkas was much... larger than Fenris. And he could not help but wonder if Farkas was much larger... all over. And if thing certainly did progress towards that, and it certainly seemed like it would progress towards that, he supposed that he would need to find out.

Moving his mind away from dirty thoughts, he started towards the front of the cave when Farkas caught up and asked another question.

"Hey Hawke, did you remember to bring a bed roll?"

He thought for a moment and then scowled deeply.

"It slipped my mind"

"We'll see if the Hold has an inn"

* * *

There was indeed a inn at the Hold, Morthal. They managed to sell a few ingredients and such from the loot at the local alchemy shop, getting the cold for some hot stew, mead for Farkas, and two rooms at the inn.

It was nice to warm himself by the fire, as his new robes proved to be slightly thinner than his old ones, and he felt the cold more keenly than before.

As they sat down to enjoy themselves for the evening, an Orc came out and started singing in a terrible voice. The innkeeper threw them an apologetic smile as the Orc's too deep voice tried to sing a song that was meant for a much higher, feminine voice. They sat as far away from the Orc as possible, trying to enjoy themselves again.

He was surprised by the quality of the stew for such a small and quiet inn. It was like the fancy Orlisen stew that Orana prepared once, only this one tasted heavier and heartier. And it was nice to have something so pleasant, next to a roaring fire, and with quiet company. Not that having a near empty house was good quiet company.

As they ate, he was surprised by the amount of mead that Farkas consumed with exhibiting any drunken behavior. And he had thought he had seen Fenris drink quite a lot, but then again, it was likely Farkas' bigger size and perhaps the broiling beast blood in his veins. Still, it was strange to see someone drink so much casually. Unless it was not casual... and Farkas really was drinking to get get drunk.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

Farkas paused, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"No"

"Alright then" He said, returning to his dinner.

He always did have a habit of eating alone. Fenris was hardly around during meals, hell, Isabela came over more to mooch food off of him more then Fenris came over to simply share a meal. And even then, Isabela only gossiped things that she had heard Varric start, sometimes telling him funny stories from her time of being a captain of a ship. But most mornings, afternoons and nights, he was alone. No one to talk to, to listen to, or even see.

"Something wrong?"

He looked over at Farkas, spoon in his mouth. He realized that his eyes burned with unshed tears and that his chest hurt. His stomach grumbled in fake pain. But he could not do that to Farkas, let the warrior know that he was lonely, so he shook his head and let the warrior get back to his drinking.

The innkeeper was grateful that they were still around when the Orc finally went to bed. She came by with something called Sweet Rolls and a few more drinks for Farkas. He nibbled on the icing covered treat and found that he rather enjoyed it. Then again, he did have a stubborn sweet tooth.

When that was done, they headed to their rooms, which were right next to each other. He laid his head on his pillow and was out cold in seconds.

* * *

White hot pain running through him. Whispers in his ears. Blood falling down his chest. The screams of his brother and sister in his ears.

A whispered promise, power for life. He took it. He grasped power, power of the gods, power of demons and a tainted world. Like trying to grab the edge of a huge storm, like trying to physically grasp faith and hope, like trying to grab at something that was clearly out of his reach. He grabbed power, dug his fingers into it, and refused to let go.

It was his and he would never let go!

Power sank into him as he sunk into it. It tainted his veins, filling it with power that would forever stain him. Power filled him to the brim and still kept forcing him to take it. He felt it spill out his eyes, nose, ears, mouth and through the hole in his chest.

It was... too much. It was too much! It was too much! IT WAS TOO MUCH! IT WAS TOO MUCH!

Power just spilled out, ice forming where his blood was falling to the ground. He needed to direct it, throw it at the metal monster holding his brother and sister. He needed to force it to obey him, and make it think that he was its master. He needed to make it bow down.

He sunk his fingers into the power again, wrestling it, holding onto it, forcing it to aim at the metal monster. He filled the power with his hatred, his fear, his wishes, his desires and everything. He felt it take the form of ice, and projected it forward.

The icy spear pierced through the Templar, piercing into the monster wearing the man's skin. The man screamed as his gauntleted fingers drop Bethany and Carver.

His first kill... was not a quick and painless one-

* * *

A rough hand shaking him woke him, startling him into the real world. He jumped up, head snapping side to side as his eyes struggled to start taking in details. The blurs of his room and then a large brown blur.

"Hawke?"

He recognized that voice... Farkas... it was Farkas. Blinking rapidly, he took in the form of Farkas standing over him, a warm hand on his shoulder. He saw that the warrior's lightly colored eyes were him and him alone.

"...Farkas?" He managed, his throat hoarse.

"You started screaming a moment ago, came in to see you having a nightmare" Farkas said.

Nightmare? Was he... yes... that day... that terrible day. Why did he have to dream about that day?

"You okay?" Farkas asked softly.

He rarely had nightmares... when Fenris pressed against him for the night. Because there was something warm and living against him that kept the bitterly cold recollections of his past mistakes coming back from haunting him. And... and... he was so damned lonely-

He burst into tears, arms snapping up to wrap around Farkas' chest and pull him in close enough to force the warrior into a hug, burying his face in the tunic clad chest of the warrior. He could feel the warrior's heart beat underneath the thick slabs of muscle and feel the rasp of hair through the cloth. And it was just so damned comforting that he could not let go. Not if he wanted to.


	20. Giving In

EDIT: There is a another kissing scene in this chapter.

* * *

He was seething.

The damned book was in the hands of Anders and Isabela as they tried to figure out some way to figure out Hawke's location. But that paled in comparison to the fact that Hawke kissed another person, and like that! It would have been completly different if Hawke had been kissed, but he clearly saw Hawke force the bastard's head forward. Hawke had been the one to kiss him.

That damned mage... just like any other. If they could not get what they wanted they just took it. Hawke just had to shack up with another man, obviously so whorish as to need someone to fuck him after only a few days away. That damned mage was messing with his feelings, just like Danarius...

He threw one of his empty wine bottles. One of the last fancy Orleisn wines that Danarius kept in the wine celler, it made a pretty mess against the wall when it smashed there. Bits of crystal blue glass decoating the destroyed carpet as blood red wine dripped down the wall. So much like that time that Hawke first came to visit him at the mansion. The dirty mage had the audacity to flirt with him, to make him think that he was not just another fucking mage-

"Broody?"

"I am in no mood, Varric" He said.

Varric opened the door anyway, scowling deeply already. He hardly ever saw the dwarf scowl.

"Heard about what happened-"

"And?" He snapped viciously.

"First off, you're far too angry about this" Varric drawled lazily "There has got to be more context to this then meets the eye"

"He kissed another man!"

"Secondly" Varric said, completely ignoring him "Good for Hawke. I've been telling him to stop shacking up with you for years now"

That struck a cord.

"...What?"

"Sorry Broody, but the kid needs someone that'll stop treating him like trash. That was all well and fine years ago when he was a know nothing kid, but he's an adult now, he needs to make wiser choices"

He just stared, baffled.

"Listen, Broody, have you ever heard what you've said to Hawke? Really listened and figured what he would feel? I'm guessing not with that you've said to him. Do you know how many times I've walked in on Hawke, huddled in come corner, looking like he wants to kill himself? Far too much. The times you said something and Hawke turned right around and cried? Far too much. The way you treated him?"

Varric paused to cross his arms across his chest.

"Broody, you're no good for Hawke, not when you keep treating him as if he's going to turn into Danarius. Hate to break your heart, but the worst part about Hawke? Is you, or I guess I should say, WAS you"

And with that, Varric left.

* * *

When he awoke in the morning, he found his cheeks pressed against something warm and thick, with the occasional rasp of short hairs. He turned his head and felt the thick thing move... much like a throat moved when it swallowed. Cracking open an eye, he saw something that looked suspiciously like an shoulder. A muscular shoulder. A shoulder that was clad in a tunic that looked familar...

He realized that his chest was surrounded by two thick arms and immediatly realized that he was lying on Farkas, with the warrior's arm around him. And... why did he care? If he recalled right, the warrior let him sob against his chest like a child for a good long time before he begged through sobs for Farkas to stay. He also recalled the warrior being a little too eager in sliding in next to him in bed. And then... being warm and feeling safe.

Warm and safe, in the arms of a man he had met but a week ago. A man that showed more genuine interest in him since the sibling love of his sister. A man that perhaps he was starting to like a little too much... but perhaps that was not such a bad thing? After all, he wanted to stay, not go back to that hell hole Kirkwall... why not find someone to love him for all of him? It was obvious that Farkas was the only one so far.

He lifted himself up, carefully propping himself up on his elbows. He remembered what Gunnar said about a werewolf's sleeping patterns. And he saw it too as he looked over Farkas' half sleeping face. The rapid movement behind the eyelids, the quicker breathing then the normal slow breathing of one sleeping peacefully, the occasional grunt. It was rather endearing, like a sleeping puppy that was not really asleep, just awaiting for the slightest movement of it's master so that it could spring up. And he idly wondered the same about Farkas, if the warrior was just waiting for enough movement to realize that he was awake?

And... why was kissing him suddenly so tempting? Perhaps his reaction was what he was looking for? The warmth and tenderness that he had felt in the last unexpected kiss? Or perhaps simply because he could and the sheer freedom of not being weighed down by so much was that giddy inducing? He found himself not caring.

His fingers strayed and found the warm skin of the warrior. Airy touches, touches that he had learned with Fenris because the wolf did not like him touching the brandings, touches to not wake the half asleep wolven warrior. He traced through the short beard along Farkas' jaw, nothing like Fenris' could ever grow. Along the warrior's nose, the finest of lines around his mouth and nostrils, along his forehead, along his strong brow, along his lips...

He leaned down, the shortened strands of his hair brushing his cheeks. His vaugely missed his long hair, as it seemed to make things more romantic, but figured that the long strands touching the warrior's face and the smell that Farkas liked so much would stir the warrior. And he wanted this to be a surprise. Even if he did not quite understand.

Drooping his head, he leaned in close enough for one breath to wash over the warrior's face, causing his nose to twitch and the stirring behind his eyelids to worsen. And then he leaned down and pressed his lips ever so gently to the warrior's, just the barest brush of skin against skin, just enough to feel the sheer heat that seemed to pour out from the warrior's pores. Just the slightest touch though, just the feeling of heat, and he felt something throb in his chest. The thrill of breaking Fenris' heart or finally opening his to someone that would not break his. He did not know.

There was a stirring in the body underneath and suddenly he was flipped onto his back. The sheer speed Farkas seemed to have was mind boggling, and he thought Isabela was a nimble little thing. Then again, he never met a werewolf before... or a current werewolf he noted as Farkas pulled off of him, letting him go with a grunt. The warrior pulled back, yellow eyes burning as he licked his lips. He saw the barest points forming from the warrior's teeth. And then the warrior was ducking down again, and he felt those lips press against his again.

It was the same as the last time. Something dominating but loving and tender and warm and something that made his chest feel funny. He felt the warrior's hands move, finding his elbows and sliding up his arms to his wrists. He thought for a moment that his wrists would be pinned, but then those hands moved up this his hands and he felt thick fingers finding his own and weaving between them. He tried not to think about the fact that Fenris rarely did that, else it would ruin the mood because Farkas was already licking along his lips, trying to get his mouth to open. He shuddered violently as he willingly opened his lips to the warrior. Farkas' tongue slithered into his mouth. Again, it was tender and sweet. Just tasting and exploration, nothing to try and put him into his place like Fenris always seemed concerned with.

Since the steel armor was not hiding the warrior's body, he felt it as it laid out fully on top of him. The sheer weight of the warrior's body was both startling and strangely comforting. When Fenris laid on him, it was no bother since Fenris was lighter then he was. But Farkas was far heavier than he was, almost as heavy as the Qunari corpse that landed on him during that one fight. And it was… comforting. Like it was weighing him down from moving away to a bad place, like it was grounding him to the warmth of the warrior's body, in the oh so comforting moment.

He squeezed the thick fingers between his more slender ones, feeling the scrap of callous along his fingers. He felt the warrior's body press down in a long rocking of his hips. He felt something along his hip that… well now. He realized that he had thought about that before, but to actually find out about it that way… damn. Just… damn.

He pulled away, breathing hard as he faced turned red from hairline to jawline as he fully realized what the thing pressed against the line of his hip was and its full size. Farkas looked concerned for a moment before seeing his red face and blinking slowly, realizing what he was getting flustered about. The warrior's hands let his go, moving down to adjust his arms to adjust the weight he had on his body. His hands remained up above his head, missing the heat already.

"Sorry" Farkas whispered huskily.

He could not form words. Simply because he was sure that the first thing that he would say would be crude. Or… was it mood ruining to ask if that thing against his hip was really a dick? He realized that the average elf would not be as large as the average human, and Farkas was a Nord and seemed to be larger in overall size than humans… but damn.

"Uh…" Farkas muttered.

He wondered where Farkas' mastery of words had gone. Because they both seemed to really needed it.

"Umm… did… did this mean something?"

The sheer hope in his eyes was crushing. The next few words would determine whether or not he crushed Farkas' or Fenris' hearts. And… why did he even need to think about it? One was open, warm and accepting, the other was hurtful and abusive. One was curious about him, willing to hear him talk, and the other wanted him to remain a quiet puppet. One wanted him for the right reasons, the other for all the wrong reasons.

"Perhaps" He muttered, breathless still.

Farkas looked eager.

"It means that you will have to deal with an army of my demons" He said, deathly serious.

"That supposed to scare me?" Farkas said, the slightest smile on his face.

"It means that you will have to deal with me forever hating myself"

"I'll find the good things for you to focus on" Farkas said, smiling wider.

"It means that you will have to deal with me being a mage"

"And I'm a werewolf"

He sighed. His hands came up to the warrior's face, cupping the man's cheeks, letting his thumbs brush along the warrior's brow and cheeks. Farkas turned his head so that he could nimble along the skin between his thumb and index finger.

"Has anyone told you that you have poor taste"

"Never believe them" Farkas mumbled against his palm, grinning.

He smiled for no reason. But… then something occurred to him. And he realized that he needed to speak with Gunnar when they got back to Jorrvaskr because he was sure that he needed to know just in case.

How did one bed a werewolf?

Farkas nipped his palm and he yelped. He felt Farkas' tongue lick along the small mark in an apology, pressing a kiss to the wet spot before looking at him with an apology in his eyes. He flicked the warrior's nose, trying not to laugh when Farkas yelped in turn.

He would worry about that later.


	21. My Sunshine

The walk back to Jorrvaskr was quiet and uneventful. Farkas rather un-sneakily grabbed his hand and persisted to hold it for a few miles somewhere along the way. His cold fingers were grateful for the warmth, even if being rubbed by those tough calluses left his fingers feeling slightly scored.

He was surprised by the time that seemed to fly by. The early morning gave into noon, into the afternoon, and then into the early evening as they arrived back into Whiterun.

It seemed like it would go much slower with neither of them speaking, but just having the comfortable silence, someone to touch him innocently, someone that would not break his heart. And... perhaps it was because his mind was still reeling?

He had taken the final steps to cutting away ties from Kirkwall by forsaking his former lover Fenris. There was nothing left but lingering regrets and dying longings. And he felt... light. Like everything weighing him down had been cut away and he was spreading wings he never knew he had.

The walls of Whiterun, despite being made of stone, were oddly comforting. Home, a real place to call home was within the walls. Not just an empty house with three servants and the occasional visitor. A home. A place of warmth, comfort, family and friends. Almost like when his father was alive...

As they walked back into Jorrvaskr, they saw a mostly burnt and grime smudged Bruniik had returned to them, though worse for wear. And he honestly looked like he had been caught in an explosion as he perused his notes in his large tome. Was it one of his experiments to send him home? He hoped that the news that he had decided to stay would not ruin his mood...

"Hey Hawke, Farkas!" Gunnar grinned, standing up from his seat by the fire when he saw them come in "Glad to see you...ooooh"

He saw their connected hands and got the silliest expression on his face. However, instead of worsening the blush on Farkas' face, Gunnar just winked and walked over to Bruniik and peered over his shoulder as the elf looked at the tome.

"Hmm... so, that does not work... not in the slightest" Bruniik mused, before snapping his book shut, eyeing the air with a certain comical loathing "Note to self, remember that compound is highly explosive and not to be used for skipping to other realms"

"Probably a bad time to say that you owe me fifty septims" Gunnar grinned.

"Hmm?" Bruniik mused before looking over at them.

Upon seeing their entwined hands, he spat out the foulest, longest string of curses that he had ever heard uttered.

"Dear sweet Magnus, you lot!" He finished, fishing out fifty gold coins from his pockets and shoving the half melted coins into Gunnar's open hands "You know what?! I NEED A FUCKING DRINK"

Bruniik stormed over to a table, grabbed a bottle of heavy mead, popped the cork and seemingly inhaled it. And seeing that the mage was done for the day, Farkas shyly let him go in favor of going downstairs. And with the warrior out of the room, he walked over to Gunnar as the old warrior sat down and watched as Bruniik tore through several bottles of heavy mead before promptly sitting in his seat and waiting for the buzz to kick in.

"So... Farkas, eh?" Gunnar chuckled.

"Is that a problem?" He said.

"No. Vilkas is going to lay you out if you do anything to him, and then I will, though" Gunnar smirked "But I have a feeling you won't do the same to the others as was done onto you"

He watched as Bruniik had more and more trouble sitting up straight. The mad mage left for a short while and came back cleaner than what he was and in new robes. As he slumped further and further in his chair, he wondered what exactly had happened to the mage for him to be in such a rut. He thought that the mad mage would like explosions.

"So...I have a... personal question" He said, blushing.

"Go on" Gunnar smiled.

"Uh...I... do not know how to word it" He muttered, blushing harder.

"Just do as Farkas does. Say it as bluntly as possible and stare blankly when someone reacts negatively"

He rolled his eyes and watched as Bruniik suddenly burst out into song. Half the words were already blurred and slurred.

"Uh... how is... how is it with a werewolf?" He muttered.

"How is what?" Gunnar asked, genuinely confused.

"You know... it" He muttered.

"...No, I don't" Gunnar said, head cocking to the side.

Bruniik crawled onto the table and started dancing around. His words were too blurred to make sense of. But it was entertaining to see the elf up and about, dancing.

"...Must you make me say it man? I mean the sex" He finally blurted.

"OH!" Gunnar declared before chuckling dirty like, only furthering the blush.

"Little Hawke, you're just as bad as Farkas!" Gunnar laughed.

He smacked the warrior's arm as hard as he could, thankful that Bruniik's singing was so loud.

"I kid, I kid" Gunnar chuckled "But, I'm guess you want to know what you signed up for, right?"

He nodded, face red.

"Alright lad. Sometimes, it's like with any other person. They have more... stamina than most people, but nothing too outstanding. Now, if they are close to their wolf, it's close to the full moon, or they've gone a long time without, that's when things get out of hand" Gunnar explained, though with a slight smirk.

He looked side to side, nervous.

"Basically basic instincts go into overdrive if they're close to their wolf or it's close to the full moon. One of those basic instincts is the need to mate and a sort of rut comes over them, heat basically. Now, its easier when the werewolf is playing bottom, because if they wear you out, its not that hard to finish them off with hands and mouth. I can't count the times that Vilkas has fucked the use out of my legs and still wanted more"

He wondered idly if Vilkas would be so open about such details. But then again, he did not see the knight anywhere.

"However, I have a feeling that you don't... uh, pitch" Gunnar chuckled "My best advice? Hold on for the ride"

"...Real helpful, Gunnar. Real helpful" He sighed before turning to Bruniik yanking Anton up onto the tables and watching the taller elf twirl the smaller one around. The small elf, unable to voice his opinion of the matter, let himself get twirled around for all of two seconds before expertly sweeping Bruniik's legs from underneath him and slammed him down to the ground.

He still drunkenly giggled.

* * *

His broiling beast blood was always alert, and it was because of it that he was startled from his light slumber when his door opened. He idly wondered who it was, reaching for the dagger he kept tucked between his headboard and the wall. Now, no one just blatantly entered his room other than his brother and Gunnar. But it was late at night, those two had to be in bed...

But his keen senses caught a scent. Aged paper, a light flower fragrance, something distantly sweet but also hard like steel. He remembered that scent. It was the potent mix that he loved filling his nose with off of Hawke's neck. But… did that mean…

He kept his eyes close and his body lax, like he was still sleeping. But he kept his ears and nose sharp. He wanted to know what Hawke wanted in the middle of the night. He hoped it was to steal another kiss, but knew better than to try and push it. After all, it could have not been Hawke at all.

There was the faintest of whispers of Hawke's feet moving into the room. However… it was not towards his bed as he had hoped. No, it was to the far corner of the room. He heard the sounds of fabric being adjusted and then something being laid on the ground, more rustling of fabric and then silence.

He tried to think of what the noises would mean. And after several long moments, enough for Hawke's breathing to settle, he realized that Hawke had come into his room just to lay in the corner on the ground. And… he could not think of why Hawke would do that. why would anyone just lay on the floor?

He tried to wrap his head around it and then just gave up, tossing his furs aside and marching over to the corner where the tightly bunched up pile of blankets that was probably Hawke lay. Hawke's scent certainly was heavier around the blankets, and the few strands of pale blonde hair certainly looked like they belonged to Hawke. So it had to be Hawke, right?

He did not care. He carefully lifted up the bundle, feeling the light weight of the body underneath, and carting it over to his bed. Carefully letting it sink into the furs, he climbed in next and carefully pulled back the furs to see what lay underneath. To his enormous relief, it was Hawke. But to his utter distress, Hawke's nose was red, the edges of his eyelids pink, and the faintest of streaks ran down the length of his cheeks.

Another nightmare, poor man.

He curled around Hawke, throwing an arm protectively around him, watching Hawke's slightly sleeping face. Hawke was a heavy sleeper, as none of the movements woke him, and maybe that was a good thing, he did not know how Hawke would react to being moved about. Hopefully not too poorly, as the poor mage would eventually wake up. At least he would be warmer and more comfortable than what he would have been on the floor, right?

A small whimper drew his attention to Hawke, quickly glancing at Hawke's features to make sure it was not another nightmare. Hawke's eyes clenched for a moment, mouth twisting into a grimace, but then he relaxed. The pretty mage squirmed underneath his arm, but then wiggled closer, pressing himself against his chest.

He felt a released breath and Hawke fell silent as he slept soundly. And after watching Hawke a long time, to make sure that not another nightmare plagued him, he curled a little bit more around the pretty mage and let Hawke's peaceful features be the last thing that he saw before a partial lull of sleep came over him.

* * *

"My brother's where?!" Bethany hissed.

Isabela, dressed as a Chantry priest, pressed a dainty finger to her lips as a Templar strolled on by. Isabela gave him her prettiest, most innocent smile, and he kept walking. When he passed however, the pirate queen scowled and pulled Bethany further into the Circle library, into a section that proved Templar free.

"He's in a magical book like thing. I honestly didn't get it, but for the moment, he's safe" Isabela said, idly touching the empty place where her bottom lip piercing was.

"How do you know he's safe?" Bethany demanded.

"The book is showing us his adventures. The worst part to happen so far? He defrosted himself with a fire spell and he may or may not be cheating on Fenris"

"Wait… cheating on...Fenris? That angry little elf? They are, they're together?" Bethany asked, utterly confused.

"Oh, sorry dear, I keep forgetting that you've missed some things" Isabela sighed "But yes, your brother and Fenris were shacking up for awhile, however, I'm beginning to think that Hawke prefers the big burly ones over the dainty pretty things. He's already kissed the man twice and curled up next to him twice"

"Can we stop gossiping for a moment and focus on my brother's safety? I don't give a rat's ass who my brother is sleeping with, just that that he's safe" Bethany hissed.

"Touche! Alright, now, we're getting close. Anders thinks that he can start running a few tests in the next few days. Apparently the book doesn't like to drop you in one spot, but fling you into the world. That's why Hawke suddenly appeared before a lake. Anders wants to make sure that whoever goes doesn't get dropped in worse places"

Bethany sighed. Ever since her brother was left all alone, all she heard was wild and crazy tales about his exploits. Was it so bad to wish to the days that their father was alive and see a time where Will genuinely smiled? Because it seemed like those were the only good days in their lives.

"Alright. But please, please" Bethany begged "Please tell me if you get him back. And… and… I know this is hard to say but… if he wants to stay… please don't force him to leave"

"...Now that isn't something I expected to hear from you" Isabela hummed.

"It's just… my brother is always depressed, he's always taken being a mage a hard thing to process and… I honestly haven't seen him genuinely happy since he was seven, and he's thirty right now. I just… I want my brother, but I want him to be happy more?" Bethany sighed.,

"I understand, dear" Isabela said "And you know… you're the only one thinking that at the moment"

"And you say that this Fenris character loves my brother?" Bethany scowled, not wanting to think that her brother would stoop so low as to love someone that hated mages like she knew Fenris did.

She did not want to think that Hawke hated himself so much that he needed another person to help hate him. She just wanted to know that her brother was alive, healthy and happy. If that meant being in another realm entirely…

...then so be it.


	22. The Beginning of the End

Waking up curled up against Farkas was… pleasant.

Not only was it warm, but that warmth was from another body. He did not want to think about the times that Fenris had snuck out of bed before he had woke and he had been left to wake alone and cold. It was nice to find himself not alone when he awoke, even if he did not mean to. He did not think that Farkas would actually move him during the night..

And the way that Farkas woke him up. Not with noise, not with violent shakes, not with movement or even placing a potent smell near his nose. No, the warrior was just running his fingertips through his short hair, a lock moved and brushed his cheek and he awoke because of the pleasant roughness of Farkas' fingertips brushing it back in place. When the warrior noted his partially opened eyes, he apologized for waking him up.

And then Farkas did something amazing and just let him lay there. After hearing the baritone of the warrior's voice in his apology, he just laid his head down and Farkas just let him. He did not recall a time where he could be woken up and then just left to lay down again. Just too many people that wanted him to forever keep running around and doing quests. To be left to just lay down and relax was amazing.

And… what more could he say? He was more and comfortable, pressed against a warm body and felt the gentle touch of Farkas' fingers as the warrior ran his fingers through his hair. He was… content and that was all that he needed. He half flopped over on the warrior, cheek pressed against Farkas' clothed chest as he listened to the steady beat of the warrior's powerful heart. He heard the steady sound of air moving in and out of the warrior's lungs.

His comfort was ruined when Gunnar kicked open Farkas door, apparently all prepared to catch them in the act and clearly disappointed. However, that meant that they only had a few minutes to get ready for work before he hauled them upstairs. And as comfortable as he was, Farkas was not optimistic about Gunnar joking around. So he was forced to get up, though falling asleep in his robes had the unforeseen benefit of getting to see Farkas get dressed.

Farkas liked being dressed in a tunic and trousers for bed, because even if his beast form suddenly took control and ruined his clothes, he still liked having pants on. It was heavily implied through his words that the others tainted with beast blood slept in the nude most of the time, and that filled his head with in appropriate images. Not that images of his own mind's crafting needed help, especially when Farkas shamelessly stripped out of his tunic and trousers to pull on the under clothing he wore under his armor.

Underneath his tunic, Farkas was as he had thought the warrior to be. Pure muscle with a healthy dose of dark hair, accented with scars of battle. He admired the handsome curve of Farkas' biceps and abs, as much as different scars that marked them. He did reach out and brush his fingers along the length of a lengthy scar that ran from the middle of Farkas' side and down to just brush his waistband. It was not straight, with just the slightest bit of a curve to it.

"Thief" Farkas said simply, careful not to interrupt his touch "Thought that he could steal from my corpse"

"It is a good thing that he failed" He said, trying not to focus on the fact that the flesh underneath his fingertips was solid and warm, just the slightest amount of give.

Sadly, Farkas needed to get dressed, as they heard an indignant cry of someone getting carted upstairs. The warrior quickly slapped on his armor, however, before they opened the doors, he stood on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the warrior's stubble covered cheek. Farkas blushed cutely, looking down at the ground.

He took the warrior's hand and lead him out of the room, smiling to himself.

* * *

After hunting down some bandits in some local ruins, he had wanted to just sit with Farkas and enjoy an evening with the Companions. However, when they arrived back, Gunnar pulled him aside and told him that it was nearly a full moon. That meant that those tainted with beast blood would get edgy and grabby.

"Now, you're free to stay, but the chances of Farkas jumping your bones is kind of high" Gunnar said "If you want to look elsewhere, and probably for the next few days as well, Bruniik has been itching to drag you over to the mage's college to show off to the other teachers. You can go with him for a few days and then come back afterwards"

He said that he would give Gunnar his answer shortly because frankly... he did not know if he wanted to go. Some dark part of his mind was exceptionally curious to see how aggressive Farkas would get when his mind was altered by the curse in his veins. He secretly admitted to himself, while he did not like Fenris throwing him down to 'put him in his place', he did admit that he liked aggressive lovers. The thought of being pinned against a wall, or to be tossed into bed by Farkas was... a little thrilling.

But... he also had to admit that their... relationship was a little too new for sex. He did not want to repeat the same experience with Fenris and jumping into bed too soon before he really got to know the warrior. And who knew? Maybe having some time apart would help reveal something? If the warrior truly felt something for him or if it was nothing but lust. He would need to see the warrior's reaction to his return.

Also, it was far too tempting to see masters of magic of the realm at work and share with them. To openly practice magic was far too good to give up, and it would be interesting to travel with the mad elf. After all, he wanted to see why the fatherly like Gunnar became too flustered as to be confused as all Oblivion and want to strangle him.

He told Gunnar that he would be leaving, and the old warrior urged him to say goodbye to Farkas before packing quickly. As it turned out, Bruniik would be leaving shortly to deal with some college business. An apprentice had accidentally unleashed something in the school's basement and needed to go get rid of it before Winterhold disbanded the college.

Farkas was in his room, getting out of his armor to take off to clean and put away for the night. The brightening of his eyes was far too innocent and pure for his poor broken heart. He did not think that he would get over being loved so innocently.

"I am sorry, Farkas. Bruniik invited me to the college for the next few days" He said as the warrior pulled him in close "I thought I would go with him"

"To the college with Brun?" Farkas said, placing a kiss on his forehead.

"Yes. He wants to introduce me to the other mages there" He said, trying not to seem like he was getting too comfortable as he leaned against the warrior, letting Farkas press his face against his hair.

"Ah... for the next few days, right?"

"Yeah"

"...I understand" Farkas sighed.

It actually hurt to hear the disappointment in his voice. But like he wanted to avoid, he did not want to ruin something so nice by rushing sex. It could wait, just like poor Farkas had to do.

"Sorry" He muttered.

"Don't be" Farkas murmured against his hair.

He let himself get held by Farkas for a few more moments before he reluctantly said that he needed to go pack before Bruniik left without him. Farkas insisted on a long, long kiss that stole his breath away and put color on both of their cheeks, before letting him go. And even when he was free to leave, he took his sweet time in walking out the door. The last thing he saw was Farkas embarrassedly looking down at the tent in his trousers.

* * *

"Let's see...walking in the dark through roads with you tagging along" Bruniik said as they stood by a rather peeved carriage driver "Or take the carriage?"

"Bruniik, I think he's waiting-"

"I do have the coins, and I am carrying my damned tome with me... but I do need to exercise more, and I need to be sober before I get there. They do hate it when I come in drunk"

"Bruniik?"

"But I need to get there quickly, lest Winterhold get peeved about Conjuration magic again..."

"Bruniik"

"But the last time I went running, the problem resolved itself and I ended up actually teaching..."

"Bruniik!"

"What?" Bruniik whined.

"Get in the damned carriage!"

"Oh, alright fussy trousers" Bruniik scolded playfully.

They climbed into the carriage and set off to Winterhold and the mage's college.

* * *

Screaming, Merrill hit a tree, smacking several branches as she roughly tumbled downwards and then landed belly first on the ground. Her chin smacked first, slamming her teeth together in a painful rattle. She took a moment of laying on the ground, trying to figure out which was was up and which why was down and where her stomach had left her and what exactly hurt.

She almost had all of that figured out when she heard another scream. There was the sound of something fairly large falling down the branches, and she only had a moment to roll to the side before Isabela crashed to the ground where she had been laying but a moment before. The only difference was that Isabela landed on her rump.

"Ouch! Son of a bitch!" She hissed, jumping to her feet and rubbing her sore ass "Hey… Where are the boys?"

SPLASH

Looking over at the waters by a stone bridge, they saw the waters ripple for a moment before, with a splash, Anders broke through the waters. Strawberry blonde strands stuck to his cheeks and the feathers on his coat laid flat on his shoulders. He spat out water as he wildly flailed for a moment.

"Anders… stand up" Isabela teased.

Stilling, Anders blinked rapidly for a moment before standing up, looking quite like a soaked cat in his large coat. He coughed and sputtered as he trended through the waters and towards the shoreline just beyond the edge of the bridge.

"Well, there's Anders" Merrill said as the soaked apostate joined them "That just leaves Varric and Fenris, right? They were in the room with us"

"To be honest, I did not think that everyone would follow us" Anders said, shaking water off of himself "I wonder what I did wrong?"

"FUCKING MAGIC"

"There's Fenris…" Anders sighed before looking around.

After some looking around, they found the elf some way down the road, having hit an abandoned cart and hit a chest. His light weight had managed to hit the chest with enough force to partially cave in the top of the chest, and he was stuck. Thankfully, Varric was with him, and the dwarf was currently trying to pull Fenris out.

The three listened to the elf cuss out his brain for several moments before he was pulled free. Fenris' arms and cheeks were covered in scratches and splinters, but the elf seemed completely oblivious to this. Or perhaps it was the glaring fact that they all had been dropped into the strange world. Or perhaps it was the magic involved. Or perhaps he was still peeved that the fact that the reason that he had come at all probably did not want to leave.

"Now, let's try and find out where we are… this place is a bit more summery than where Hawke landed" Varric noted.

"I am going to gut that bastard" Fenris snarled.

"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves" Isabela said soothingly "For all we know, the book could be lying to us"

"All meant to piss you off, so don't be so quick to try and kill Hawke" Varric said.

Fenris snarled, nostrils flaring widely.


End file.
